


A Shot in the Dark

by Manny in Marvel Land (Manniness)



Series: A Hydra-made Former Assassin in Outer Space [2]
Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Astral Projection, Dealing With Trauma, Guardians of the Galaxy looking out for Bucky and Rocket, Guardians of the Galaxy looking out for the galaxy, M/M, Mirror Dimension (Marvel), Ravager Code, Sling Rings, all aboard Bucky’s Roller Coaster of Self-Doubt™, interspecies sexytimes, reference to non-consensual acts such as brainwashing and behavioral modification
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:55:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 59,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25025767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Manniness/pseuds/Manny%20in%20Marvel%20Land
Summary: Life is good for Bucky.  He’s got a quirky intergalactic family, a fiercely loyal lover, and a pretty decent track record of overriding Hydra’s programming.  But then the trauma from Bucky’s past rears its ugly head, feeding his doubts and demons.  It’s the worst possible timing because there’s a missing moon to be investigated, secretive strangers in their midst, and a dastardly cosmic plot to uncover.  (So, basically, it’s a week like any other.)Sequel to “The End of the Line”
Relationships: Bucket - Relationship, James "Bucky" Barnes/Rocket Raccoon
Series: A Hydra-made Former Assassin in Outer Space [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1839031
Comments: 67
Kudos: 27





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My soul demanded a sequel, so here it is. (^_^)
> 
> And, my humble appreciation for wonderful inspiration:
> 
> (Music) “Fools” by Lauren Aquilina
> 
> (Fanvid) “Way Down We Go | Bucky Barnes” by Nio Doan (Song: “Way Down We Go” by Kaleo) at https://youtu.be/o1KgwmbOnlU
> 
> (Music) “Open Your Eyes” by Bea Miller
> 
> (Fanvid) “Bucky Barnes | Out Of Control” posted by SecretlyToDream/Loki (Song: “Out of Control” by Tim McMorris) at https://youtu.be/cdcYbuwHoz4
> 
> (Music) “This Is Gonna Hurt” by Sixx:A.M.
> 
> (Music) “Whatever It Takes” by Imagine Dragons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: !!! SEXYTIMES !!!
> 
> Do we really need tags for the sexy shenanigan particulars? I always feel weird about listing them front and center. (Like, in tagging stuff like “cum marking” is that a warning or more like pr0n advertising??) But, OK, I will say this much: Bucky and Rocket’s first time (“The End of the Line,” Chapter 17) is a pretty good indicator of what they’re both comfortable with. It’s gonna get messier, though.
> 
> Basically, if you were uncomfortable with the sexytimes in Chapter 17 of “The End of the Line,” then you should probably skip reading the sexytimes in this fic, skim down, and just dive back in during the afterglow. (^_~)

> “I know a guy. A weapons guy,” Quill had said and, at the time, Rocket had sneered, “What’s this bozo buddy of yours got that I don’t?”
> 
> “A tentacle in every black market deal in the quadrant.” Including deals involving weapons capable of taking out little-known moons in out-of-the-way solar systems.

And that was why the _Milano III_ was now docking at an obscure research complex that hovered in an oasis of calm amid a revolving asteroid field. Rocket had piloted their way through, having won the coin toss.

“Damn it,” Quill declared as the clamp locked the ship in place with barely a nudge.

“What?” Gamora demanded.

“We’re early.” He glared at Rocket. “You did that on purpose.”

“Pshaw, why would I show you up _on purpose?”_

Mantis caught the inference and happily showed off to the rest of the class: “That is a trick question!”

Rocket shined a bright grin at Quill’s scowl. “No, it’s a rhetorical question because the answer is obvious.” Rocket chucked his harness aside and leaned over the arm of his seat. He nodded to Bucky. “Good to go?”

“Waiting on you.”

“In that case, Copilot Quill, you may have the privilege of powering down the ship. Bucky and I have someplace to be.”

“How can you have places to be?” Quill squawked, “I’m the one who set up this meeting!”

Bucky paused with his feet on the third rung of the cockpit ladder. “And we’ll see you there. Let us know if your pal changes the time or place.” A smile nudged and tickled at his lips at the feel of Rocket’s claws delving into his hair to tease the back of his neck.

Quill rolled his eyes, cringing away. “Eugh. Get lost already.”

Bucky found the narrow overlap of things that both Rocket and Quill agreed on endlessly amusing. So did Gamora if her shit-eating grin was any indication. And Groot, who was giving Bucky two thumbs up. Drax was pretending to nap with his chin tucked down against his chest and Mantis saw them off with a cheery wave goodbye.

Bucky didn’t even have to swing by his room to pick up his bag. Everything he needed had been carefully stowed in his jacket pockets or utility belt.

As soon as the _Milano’s_ hatch finished hissing open, Rocket gave the back of Bucky’s thigh a squeeze and then led the way to customs. As they had no organics or tech to declare, they were heading through the no-frills, no-fuss arrivals foyer and out into dry, dusty streets in minutes.

They passed domes of what looked like clay with clunky windows: houses and shops. Bucky noted the guard station outside the science complex, but Rocket nudged him down another street toward a sprawling series of mud-colored bubbles. A small sign beside the main entrance promised accommodation at all hours.

Bucky glanced down at Rocket. “Really?”

“Oh, yeah. Really.”

Bucky’s deep breath only fanned the smoldering coals of anticipation. Fairly early on during their two uneventful weeks (and Bucky’s considerable practice at repressing the Winter Soldier) on Quill’s recommended planet, Bucky had made Rocket a deal -- Rocket could have all the “explosions” he wanted so long as the location was secure and soundproof. Neither of which could be found anywhere on the _Milano_ or in the uncomfortably humid jungle in which they’d landed.

Sure, the local edibles had been great, and it had been nice to refill the water tanks from a fresh supply, but Bucky and Rocket had spent way too much time being hyper aware of their shipmates’ movements to really emerge refreshed and ready for adventure.

The reply from Quill’s weapons contact couldn’t have arrived soon enough because they’d both known it would mean a stopover in actual civilization. With hotels that provided large beds, en suite bathrooms, and, more importantly, _privacy._

Rocket tapped his way through the online check-in as Bucky surveyed the lobby. There were meeting rooms facing the street and a cafe with a terrace looking out toward the canyon in the distance. Laundry drop-off and specimen lockers were tucked in an alcove.

“This way,” Rocket said and pointed them down the east wing corridor. Their room was at the end of the hall, past an emergency exit and a stairwell to the hotel’s underground facilities. Rocket swiped the key card and gestured for Bucky to go ahead.

He stepped over the threshold and through the small, square entryway. The room was circular with a wall down the center, dividing the bathroom (with an actual bathtub) from the bedroom. There were two large beds, side by side, facing a window that spanned nearly the full width of the room and provided a panoramic view of the alien desert, its ravines and monoliths. Very unsure about potentially being on display, Bucky turned back to Rocket who had his paw poised above a control panel. As soon as he was certain he had Bucky’s attention, he hit a button and the glass darkened.

“We can see out, but no one can see in,” he explained. “Or…” Pressing a second button, he activated some sort of motor and Bucky watched actual shutters slide out from the panels bracketing the window.

“Or,” Bucky preferred as the view was completely obscured. Rocket took his paw off of the controls. He backtracked to the door and Bucky watched him lock it. Three locking mechanisms, each independent of the other. His paw shifted over a foot and he knocked on the plaster. “Two feet thick. And these walls don’t share.”

“Secure and soundproof,” Bucky agreed, and Rocket strolled up to him, slid his palm up the back of Bucky’s thigh, and then headed right for the nearest bed.

Bucky stayed where he was, enthralled by his lover’s doubled confidence, and grinned when Rocket leaned back against the bed and crooked a finger his way. “C’mere.”

With feet that suddenly felt five shoe sizes larger, Bucky took one step… and then another. Rocket watched his approach, his flat, pink tongue poking out past his sharp teeth. His tell.

“You’ve been planning this for a while,” Bucky realized, reading Rocket’s barely-restrained impatience.

“A long while.”

“How much longer you gonna be able to wait?”

“Whatever number is less than zero.”

Bucky came to a stop in front of Rocket and those paws lifted to his belt buckle. Bucky tossed his jacket onto the pillows at the head of the bed and untucked his shirts, hiking the entire mess up his torso. He groaned through his gritted teeth at the slow descent of his trousers’ zipper and the rough paw that smoothed over the trail of hair at his navel.

“Hey, cutie. You promised me explosions.” Rocket reminded him, “Explosions are loud.”

“Gimme an incentive, tiger.”

Rocket tugged hard on the sagging fabric of Bucky’s trousers, swinging him around and onto the bed. Bucky laughed as he bounced, lifting his feet up and listening to the boot buckles loosen under Rocket’s quick fingers. When he started pawing Bucky’s trousers down his legs, Bucky took that as the green light to kick his boots off. They tumbled to the stone floor and then Rocket was shucking Bucky’s trousers from his feet, hugging them to his chest as Rocket meticulously folded them up, all the while memorizing every inch of bared skin.

Bucky sat up just far enough to slip his socks off, dropping one into each boot. Then he dug his elbows into the bed and scooched back, his underpants dragging down and bunching at his hips, revealing that trail of hair on his navel that Rocket literally could not seem to resist.

Rocket set Bucky’s trousers aside and sidled up his long legs, trailing claws through the coarse hair on his shins. The softer hair on his thighs. He reached for the waistband of the scrunched up underwear and pulled those down, down, and off. Folded and tucked them between the layers of trouser fabric. Bucky’s tongue went dry at the hot look in Rocket’s dark eyes.

Aboard the _Milano,_ they’d crowded together on Bucky’s bed, burying groans against scruff and tipping whispers into ears as they’d hurriedly groped toward completion in near-silence. Sometimes in darkness. Always in that narrow space. And now this total freedom.

Bucky’s heart was pounding as Rocket gingerly crawled up to Bucky’s chest and perched on his belly. Bucky’s fingers went to work on Rocket’s flight gear, careful not to catch Rocket’s hair in the fastenings. He took his time loosening the cloth and massaging his fingers deep into the fur beneath until Rocket tilted his head back on a long sigh, swaying. Loose and trusting.

God, Bucky could not wait to see him come. Could not wait to hear what sounds he’d make when he wasn’t trying to hoard the pleasure from sleeping neighbors and passersby.

The fabric bunched at Rocket’s hips and he leaned up, hot paws on Bucky’s bare chest as Bucky worked the trousers down, freeing Rocket’s tail and, with a supple twist to the side, Rocket kicked the jumpsuit away.

Bucky paused long enough to fold the fabric up and set it beside his trousers. And then he turned his full focus on his lover.

“C’mere,” Bucky breathed, holding out his right hand and gasping at the feel of soft warm fur against his bare skin.

Rocket braced himself on Bucky’s bicep, gripping hard, claws pinching just enough to make him tingle with heat as a rough, hot tongue lapped at his neck.

He moaned. And when Rocket’s entire body shivered with heat, Bucky moaned again.

Rocket whined, a needy sound slipping into Bucky’s ear. “Give it to me, bright eyes,” he rumbled as one paw skidded down Bucky’s chest and over a nipple.

“Ahh!”

“Yeah. More of that.”

“Hnn… Rocket--uhn.” That agile tongue was on Bucky’s earlobe now. Bucky’s fingers combed greedily through Rocket’s fur, breath held as he waited for the sting--

“Ah, shit!” he sputtered, his bitten ear throbbing in time with his arousal.

“Good?”

“Damn good. Do the other one.” Bucky groaned as Rocket slid over him, slinking and stretching until he was nosing Bucky’s hair back, burrowing against his thudding pulse, breathing in deep.

“You drive me crazy,” Rocket grunted against Bucky’s jaw, the confession made muzzy against his beard. “That anyone -- anyone could just -- walk up to you -- so close and--”

“Not like this,” Bucky reminded him, arching his neck in offering. “You’re the only one who gets me like this.”

Again, Rocket inhaled. Shivered. Whimpered.

And then he snapped at Bucky’s ear, the shock pulling a breathless shout from Bucky’s throat and then a long moan as humid breath steamed the abused skin.

Bucky felt the edge of an ear against his chin and chased after it, nuzzling and nipping. The fingers of his left hand were poised over Rocket’s spine, tickling and tracing the delicate bones in rhythmic passes and, against Bucky’s side, he could feel the smooth head of Rocket’s cock pushing past warm pelt, lengthening and filling and firming.

The fingers of Bucky’s right hand traced and teased those scooped ears until claws scraped softly over Bucky’s chest. Rocket’s tongue lapped at a nipple and-- _Jesus God!_

“Rocket! Hng--ah, damn it, Rocket.”

A hot paw slid down the center of his torso in a long, hot stripe and then slowed tortuously as it passed over soft, downy hair.

“God, I love your fur,” Rocket lipped against Bucky’s peaked flesh, and Bucky would have managed more of an actual laugh if he hadn’t been so agonizingly ready to feel Rocket against his aching cock.

Tweaking Rocket’s ear, Bucky rasped, “Need it now. C’mon, tiger.”

Rocket made a sound almost like a purr and Bucky rocked up, ready to roll them over so that Rocket was tucked under him and Bucky could reach both their arousals with his right hand--

But Rocket pressed him flat again. “Then just lie back and enjoy, bright eyes.”

Bucky gawped as Rocket squiggled down his torso, that familiar, warm weight of fur-covered muscle brushing over his dick in one long pass, and then Rocket did something he hadn’t done before: he pressed Bucky’s thighs wide, hunched down, and licked at the tender skin between crotch and knee.

“Rocket!” Bucky’s left hand fisted in the bed covers.

Nosing his way along Bucky’s thigh, up, up, up until Rocket shifted and his flushed cock lined up with Bucky’s and -- _Jesus_ \-- the feel of Rocket’s fur on the inside of his thighs was the entire universe. Bucky’s throat vibrated with a moan. And then Rocket rolled his hips forward in a rough, greedy slide.

“Nhaa,” Bucky said, groping for the lotion in his jacket pocket and slicking his right hand. He reached between them and Rocket shouted as their motions turned warm and smooth in Bucky’s grip.

Rocket closed his eyes, swayed dangerously, but Bucky’s left hand was there, offering a handhold, and Rocket clamped on with both paws, pressed his forehead to Bucky’s fist as his hips thrust and thrust and thrust and--

“So frickin’ good,” Rocket whimpered. “Bucky…”

“Lookit me.”

And when those dazed brown eyes opened, Bucky titled his hips toward Rocket’s steady motion, learning his rhythm and rubbing them both deeper into it.

“You’re mine?” Rocket mewled, almost too quietly for Bucky to hear.

“Yeah, tiger. I’m all yours.”

Rocket sobbed once, gasped, and then Bucky felt it. The round, plump swelling at the base of Rocket’s cock.

“To soon,” Rocket protested helplessly. “Don’t wanna… not yet. Not--ah, frickin’--can’t stop.”

“Give it to me,” Bucky urged him, his pulse spiking in anticipation because Rocket was going to cover him in come. _Oh, Jesus, please._

Rocket surrendered to instinct on a shudder, his hips grinding tight circles, pressing that hot bulb of flesh into the base of Bucky’s cock in a way that was totally new and so very deep, deep, deep--

“Holy God, Rocket, that’s--huh--nng--so good.” Rocket was everywhere. Hot and hard and slick and Bucky’s hips rolled with him, balls tight and wanting it so bad.

Panting breaths, each bitten out as Rocket squeezed his eyes shut. Ears flattening as he fought to hold out just a little longer. “Bucky--Bucky, I--I wanna--put me on you.”

“Do it.”

“Everywhere.”

“Rocket.” Bucky cupped Rocket’s face in his left hand. “I want it. C’mon.”

And then he was: Rocket’s eyes opened wide and then his eyelids drooped in delirious pleasure as his cock loosened its load. He dug his claws into the crevasses between Bucky’s fingers and held on, spine bowing and hips rubbing endless circles between Bucky’s thighs as he came and came and came. It wasn’t long before the hot slick was streaking down over Bucky’s hips and soaking the bed covers. Bucky angled his hips up until that liquid heat was surging up against the underside of his pectorals, splashing so close to his nipples and Bucky groaned, imagining what that would feel like. Rocket’s hot come pouring over him there.

Bucky crossed his ankles, hitched his hips up and up and Rocket wasn’t done yet, but the picture he made in his surrender and the tingling of Bucky’s skin -- God why did everywhere Rocket’s release touched make sparks of arousal erupt in his veins? His right hand, still guiding their arousals into glorious contact, was coated with it now, which meant that Rocket was on him and Bucky was thrusting into it, all slick and hot skin--so close so close so close.

A paw reached for Bucky’s chest, swiped a smear of warm come onto one nipple and then softly clawed--

Bucky came on a scream -- too long to be a shout, to shocked to be wail. His climax slammed into him, roared and seared. White light exploded behind his eyelids and he was zooming through ecstasy, being dragged bodily by his toes, his fingertips, his scalp. Oh God, he was burning up everywhere.

Everywhere.

Everywhere.

_Oh, God._ “Rocket…”

And then he felt two paws, one on each hip, gripping. Gripping. Gripping. Hips rolling against his. Hot ejaculate puddling on his belly.

Rocket was still coming and Bucky was mindblown. Just… mindblown.

He swallowed -- a dry flex of his throat -- and then curled his lax right hand, gently fisting Rocket’s slippery cock. His left hand -- at some point, it had flopped flat on the bed. He lifted it with a monumental effort and slid his palm against Rocket’s side to anchor him.

Rocket clamped on, whimpering, and Bucky further gentled his touch on Rocket’s sensitive cock. “That’s it, tiger. That’s so good. So good,” he coaxed. “Hmm, I can take more. You got more for me?”

Rocket’s jaw dropped open and Bucky knew this was it -- one last, intense surge of spine-tingling heat -- and shifted his left hand to catch Rocket before--

“Hhhnnnn…” Rocket nearly squealed in helpless pleasure, slumping forward with exhaustion as his hips stilled and spine went lax.

“I’ve gotcha,” Bucky soothed, gently nudging Rocket back and against one thigh, twisting his hips and torso to give Rocket a moderately stable place to recline while he caught his breath. Rocket groped blindly, found Bucky’s opposite knee with his left paw, and grasped hard. Ignoring the mess sliding off of his skin and onto the bed covers, Bucky curved his body down so that he could pet Rocket’s nearest thigh with his left hand. Slow, soothing passes.

“Can you see yet?” Bucky asked and Rocket tilted his face toward the sound of his voice.

“Nearly, oh God. Why, what am I missing?”

“Only the most goofiest smile that’s ever split my face.” Bucky doodled a rough likeness of what it felt like against Rocket’s noodle-esque thigh muscles. “You’re amazing.”

“And you’re--” He panted. “--way too coherent for that to be true.”

Bucky chuckled. “Mods,” he said.

Rocket’s head fell back against his knee with a defeated grunt. His right paw landed on top of Bucky’s left hand. Rocket’s breaths gradually evened out enough that he could fill his lungs to capacity and, when he did, he cursed.

“Hm?” Bucky prompted, determinedly ignoring the sticky coating cooling on his hips and belly and chest and right hand.

“I smell us. On you. All over you. Damn it, that’s good.”

“If you try to stop me from taking a shower, we’re gonna have a problem.”

Rocket was too blissed out to bristle. The snarl came out as more of a whine. But when Bucky’s thumb rubbed back and forth over Rocket’s thigh, the fight simply drained out of him. “You’ve got no idea, bright eyes,” Rocket said quietly, rolling his head to the side in order to meet Bucky’s gaze.

“That something you gotta have -- you on me, day and night?” Bucky checked, even though he was pretty sure he already knew the answer.

“No,” Rocket denied, making an effort to sound certain. But Bucky knew exactly what he meant: Rocket didn’t want to need it, but there was some part of him that did want it. Badly.

“Hey. We’ll figure it out,” Bucky promised because, yes, this was just another detail to be sorted.

Rocket gave him a lopsided smile as he nuzzled his cheek against Bucky’s knee. “A couple of smart guys like us? Plate of cake.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: !!! SEXYTIMES !!!

Bucky could cuddle Rocket for hours. In the aftermath (and for long as it was only the two of them), Rocket always mellowed, contentedly tangling his paws in Bucky’s hair and letting Bucky press him into the mattress, returning every nuzzling caress.

This time was no different. They ignored the springiness of the bed and the spaciousness of the room. Bucky smiled as Rocket’s whiskers tickled his lips and Rocket sighed into Bucky’s beard, nipped at his jaw. God, in some ways, these peaceful moments were even better than the hot rush of completion.

A lazy lie-in. All the time in the world. “Life is but a dream,” Bucky murmured against Rocket’s ear and Rocket stretched, sliding his clawed toes along Bucky’s thigh as he basked in the low vibration.

“Another one,” he urged, rubbing his ear against Bucky’s lips, and Bucky complied: “I’m in a spin, and I’m loving the spin I’m in.”

“Hmm.”

A small, clawed hand trailed down Bucky’s right arm and Bucky felt the scratches, almost wishing he could have worn them as scars.

“Tell me the gutter one again.”

Bucky breathed out a laugh and quoted, “We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars.”

Rocket slowly rolled his head, bumping his snout against Bucky’s nose. They were still in the first bed. Bucky would have preferred to shower and then fall into fresh sheets for a nap, but Rocket had started rustling around as if to burrow both of them under the damp and musky bed covers. They’d compromised: Bucky had toweled off and Rocket had bunched the bed covers up to one side of the mattress: their combined aromas were still in sniff range, but Bucky wasn’t lying in the mess.

Rocket’s watch beeped once, softly, marking the hour. They had only two left until their meeting with Quill’s contact.

Groaning in protest, Rocket snuggled closer, pushing against Bucky’s chest, and Bucky rolled onto his back, reaching to brace Rocket’s hips. Rocket’s muzzle burred a friction kiss against Bucky’s neck; that was his only warning before those thin lips parted and--

“Holy God, Rocket!” Bucky rasped, air bursting from his lungs at the sudden feel of hot breath and sharp teeth as Rocket endeavored to suck Bucky’s skin between his fangs. Another love bite. It’d be messy -- nothing like the perfect O-shaped bruises that a human lover could leave behind -- and it’d be gone by the time they sat down for the meeting, but Bucky didn’t mind.

Rocket didn’t, either, if the erection quickly firming against Bucky’s side was any indication.

Bucky groaned in invitation. Wondered how a second round could even be possible for Rocket so soon after that brilliantly explosive first. Well, he supposed he’d find out.

Time was limited, and Rocket didn’t seem to be willing to waste a moment of it. He lotioned up one paw and slid his palm along Bucky’s somnolent cock, careful not to scratch with his claws. No, those claws gently scraped through the curls covering Bucky’s groin in fiery passes that -- _shit damn it oh God_ \-- had Bucky’s arousal swelling with record speed.

His left hand curled around Rocket’s hip and his right curved around Rocket’s skull, a thumb brushing over a sensitive ear and Rocket groaned, “Hnn, yeah, just like that, bright eyes.”

Bucky barely heard him. The picture Rocket made, rubbing himself against Bucky and rubbing Bucky’s dick with one paw, was enough to make him forget words altogether. And it sure as hell didn’t help that the other paw was resting just below Bucky’s nipple, a terrible, teasing half-an-inch away.

Bucky flicked his thumbnail against the edge of Rocket’s ear and damn that hot whine. It made Bucky’s pulse jump knowing he could transform this snarky, battlefield-lusting, engineering genius into a mindless wanton, greedy for his touch. Rocket needed him in a way that was primal and God did Bucky love that. So much.

“So hard,” Rocket panted. “We’re almost there. C’mon, Bucky. C’mon.”

“Ahh--God, yes--I wanna…” Bucky’s legs spread wider and a firm, warm thigh pressed its soft fur against Bucky’s balls. The paw branding the skin just below his nipple stirred.

“Want you to give it to me. Want you on me. You wanna gimme that, bright eyes?”

 _Oh, God_ (and) _hell yes_ he did.

The palm on his chest stretched wide, fingers tensed, and then claws bit into his skin just as he felt another hot scrape on either side of his trapped cock and the friction -- flames of pure sensation that pooled in his belly, pulled heat from his balls, and--

Head thrown back, Bucky whimpered as his second release jetted out over his belly.

“Aw, yeah,” Rocket crooned. “That’s what I want.”

And Bucky wanted him to have it. Use it. A hot spike of possession thrilled him from scalp to sole, and he grunted, knowing that Rocket was moments away from urging Bucky’s hand to slick Rocket’s hard cock with his release. In the short time since Bucky and Rocket had become lovers, Bucky had come (literally, on one or two occasions) to love the sight of that dark-skinned, compact cock glistening with his release. And the feel of it pistoning slippery and hot across Bucky’s palm and against his curled fingers? _In-cred-i-ble._

“Hnnng…” Bucky, now gliding in the sweet, tingling afterglow, wholeheartedly approved of proceeding, but Rocket didn’t insistently paw at his wrist and arm. He ignored Bucky’s offered hand. He shifted and steadied himself instead.

Jaw loose and rapid, shallow breaths moving in his chest, Bucky slit open his eyes to chart his lover’s fidgeting, watching as Rocket straddled one of Bucky’s boneless thighs and slowly scooped up Bucky’s release himself, nostrils flaring and fine tremors running all the way down his delicate spine until Bucky could feel them amplified in Rocket’s trembling tail.

And _oh God._ The sight of Rocket taking the initiative like this was almost unbearable.

Bucky licked his dry lips. “Show me, tiger. Show me how good I make you feel.”

Rocket stared hard at his paw, almost as if he were transfixed, as he reached for himself and then massaged it into and along the shaft. _God._ Watching what it did to Rocket made Bucky steam inside his own skin: the way those brown eyes drifted half-shut and his breaths turned into needy mewls and endless shivers wracked his body as his hips rolled in smooth, mindless circles.

Bucky lifted his right hand to Rocket’s face and Rocket nuzzled against his palm. Licked the pads of his fingers. Poked his nose in the spaces between.

It wouldn’t be long now.

He was swelling up again and Bucky’s own cock gave a weak twitch of encouragement. He was mesmerized: both paws were at work, one curled around the shaft, thumb brushing over the head, and the other massaging that taut ball of flesh near the base. Shining and slippery and covered in Bucky.

“Ah, damn. Rocket, you look so good. So good, tiger.”

“Ah… hah… hah…”

“Hmm. That’s it. That’s what I wanna see.”

Rocket pressed his brow against Bucky’s palm, hot breaths bathing his inner arm.

“Wanna feel you, tiger. All over me. God, that feels so good.”

“Hnnng--wanna--!”

“Yeah, you wanna. C’mon, tiger. Lemme feel you.” Bucky scratched his nails gently along the back of Rocket’s ear. Once, twice -- Rocket was tilting into it like a heat-seeking missile--

And then Bucky shifted his left hand and curled his thumb just the slightest bit, pressing against the tender underside of Rocket’s taut balls--

“Bucky…” Rocket exhaled and, _oh God yeah,_ that hot release was shooting over Bucky’s navel, slicking his skin, marking him with tingling heat. He closed his eyes, recalled how it had felt on his chest and nipple and felt himself flush with a hot wave. Almost a climax. If he’d been hard, he might have come again. Just from that.

Just. From. That.

_Son of a bitch._

Winded, Bucky pulled his shaky knees up because his arms were useless now. As Rocket leaned back against Bucky’s thighs, Bucky’s arms flopped to the mattress, which was still dry. Rocket’s second climax hadn’t produced as much as the first, but he was still gasping and shuddering, caught in the feel of it as drops gathered at and then slid from the head.

“Not--not done,” Rocket panted. “Just--” He groped for Bucky’s right hand and, summoning his strength, Bucky curled his palm and fingers around Rocket’s, resuming that circular rhythm with gentle rotations of his wrist. Rocket let out an almost pained yelp, but then hissed low, “Yes…”

Bucky groaned, very content with being a more active participant and very much wanting Rocket to know it. Rocket’s eyes were squeezed shut, so he couldn’t see the hot look in Bucky’s eyes or the quick passes of his tongue over dry lips, but Rocket could hear. Hell, Bucky wouldn’t have been surprised if Rocket could hear his heart beating.

He appeared delirious, riding the sensations. Spine loose and so trusting in Bucky’s grasp. Rocket was incredible. Rocket was--

“My mate.”

And the fact that Rocket’s mouth hadn’t moved at all was what made Bucky realize that he’d been the one to rasp those rough words. Words that made Rocket inhale sharply and his ears visibly thrum and he probably would have whimpered if his heart had given his lungs room to shift. His jaw dropped open and the droplets sped up for a few more seconds and then--

Rocket slumped forward. Bucky tried to catch him, but Rocket’s paws were already on his wrists, pushing his hands away. He sprawled on Bucky’s slick torso, nosing a nipple and Bucky’s hips reacted, rocking his thighs wide and -- _shit_ \-- he was tingling deep down in his pelvis.

“Stop torturing me,” Bucky begged on a huff, caught between wonderment and mirth.

Rocket murmured, “Say it again.” 

Bucky did: “My mate.” His left hand drifted along Rocket’s lower back, petting his spine with the tips of synthetic fingers. “My mate.”

God, he loved how those words made Rocket’s whole body shiver. Loved the sense of peace that seeped into every cell at the thought that Rocket wasn’t just his for today or for the foreseeable future.

Bucky couldn’t remember feeling like this before -- ever. This immovable certainty that went so deep inside every part of him that it _was_ him. Rocket was his mate.

He marveled until he dozed. Dozed until the beep of Rocket’s watch alerted them to the passing of another hour. Only one left. And since Bucky knew Rocket would sleep on him for as long as Bucky let him, he gathered his resolve to get moving.

Rolling them both, Bucky gently laid Rocket in the pile of used sheets. They were still a little damp, but Rocket didn’t care. Probably because Rocket himself was damp just about everywhere, his fur matted and clumped. Bucky shook his head in awe because whatever Rocket got from their lovemaking clearly overruled his obsessive need to be clean and well-groomed.

If there ever came a day when Rocket dashed to the bathroom to clean up afterward, then Bucky would take it as a sign that the end was nigh.

He caressed the dome of Rocket’s skull and whispered, “I’ll shower first.”

“Hmm, stay,” Rocket mumbled, pushing his nose further into the fabric and going right back to sleep.

Bucky inched off of the bed and headed for the bathroom.

Rocket wandered in as Bucky was just finishing up toweling his hair, a larger towel wrapped around his hips.

“I thought we were past the towel stage,” Rocket remarked, eyeing Bucky up and down. His gaze lingered on the hair under Bucky’s raised right arm before dropping to the trail at his navel.

Bucky shrugged. “Habit.”

“Whadaya say we work on undoing that?” Rocket crossed the distance between them and hooked his claws around the top edge of the towel. When he didn’t tug, Bucky stepped back.

The towel dropped to the floor and Rocket sucked in a slow breath at the sight. “I still say it’s dangerous to just let the goods dangle front and center like that, but _damn.”_

Bucky’s pride sat up (puffed up its chest a bit, too) at the obvious admiration.

Rocket’s grin turned wicked. “No wonder you humies are risk-takers.” A paw lifted toward the hair on Bucky’s abdomen, but he intercepted it with a chuckle.

“Shower now; pet me later.”

“Stop being such an adult,” Rocket groused, but he got in the shower.

To kill time while his hair finished air-drying, Bucky went through the room’s database, reading up about the station on this rock, the rare mineral content of the surrounding asteroids and the mining methods that had been developed to harvest the material. The science facilities touted their wide variety of inventions and innovations, even bragged about their persistent experiments into the applications of various compounds. Bucky was still a couple of decades behind on space-engineering jargon, but a lot of this sounded like it was weapons-grade.

It made sense that Quill had a contact here because a venture of pure science would eventually be corrupted by interstellar capitalism and black market types.

So Bucky couldn’t be faulted for feeling uneasy when Rocket, now clean and fluffed and looking quite attractive with his flight suit only half on (the sleeves were tied loosely around his narrow waist and Bucky was of half a mind to wreck the second bed with him and to hell with the meeting), came up and leaned against Bucky’s arm, focused on the holomap Bucky was perusing, and said, “This is a good place to do some shopping.”

The last time Bucky had been in “a good place to do some shopping,” Drax and Gamora had taken him to a renowned bladesmith and egged Bucky on until he’d spent nearly all of his meager savings on knives. If he’d had only a few hundred units more, he might have gotten the sword that Gamora had argued for, too.

He still felt a twinge of regret at having left it behind, but he didn’t even know how to use it.

 _“Get one and I’ll show you,”_ Gamora had promised, and Bucky figured he knew where his next chunk of change was going.

“Shopping, huh?” Bucky echoed, slouching back to make room for Rocket to reach the keyboard. “I think I oughta be concerned.”

“Nah,” Rocket dismissed airily. “I don’t need nuthin’ for blowing up. Not here anyway.” He pointed to the screen and Bucky glanced at the small cluster of highlighted shops. “This here is where they sell the good stuff.”

“That’s not where we’re meeting Quill’s contact.”

“Eh, on the way.”

It wasn’t exactly “on the way.” Just when Bucky could make out the top of the dock structure up ahead (and, below that, the ground-level recreation hall where they’d been told to sit tight and wait), Rocket tapped Bucky’s thigh and redirected his steps down a quiet side street. The buildings looked more like houses than shops; there were no display windows or advertisements. In fact, the only vaguely commercial aspect was the occasional plaque hung beside a door.

Rocket swerved to the right and trotted up a stone walkway that appeared to be identical to its neighbors. He opened the door and Bucky reached out to hold it wide. As Rocket crossed the threshold, Bucky scanned the interior, half expecting to be looking at someone’s living room, but they were definitely in a shop. A shop that was carefully arranged with clocks and other precision equipment. Which shouldn’t have surprised Bucky -- this being a stone’s throw from a scientific research facility and all.

Rocket sauntered up to the display case at the counter and hopped up on a sleek-and-stylish stool.

“Can I help you?” the woman at the nearby workstation murmured as she carefully set aside her delicate tools and glass loupe.

“Yes,” Rocket answered with deference, surprising Bucky. “Looking for a watch.”

Hanging back, Bucky listened with half an ear to the impressive list of necessary features that Rocket rattled off -- chronograph this and synchronized that with a crystal whatnot. Bucky idly took a slow inventory of the shelves. There were all sorts of timepieces. Plus a myriad of devices that he couldn’t hope to name let alone figure out how they worked. But even to his novice eye, he could tell the craftsmanship was of the highest quality.

Bucky’s meandering eventually brought him to Rocket’s side. He was inspecting a selection of five wristwatches with the kind of focus he normally reserved for repairing the _Milano’s_ fragile and temperamental hyper drive components.

Bucky had never heard Rocket complain about his watch -- had never heard him mention wanting a new one -- but hell who wouldn’t want one of these beauties?

Rocket selected two and placed them in front of Bucky. “Which one you like?”

“It’s your watch. Which one do you like?”

“This one.” He pointed to the one on the right. “But you’re wrong about the other thing.”

Bucky frowned as the penny dropped. “Rocket, I don’t think I can afford it.”

“But I can. And you need a watch, man.”

Bucky started to shake his head.

“Don’t. Don’t the ruin the surprise.”

And that was what this was. Rocket was in the process of surprising Bucky. Bucky needed a moment to marvel at that, and then he angled toward Rocket and softly said, “Thank you.”

“You are welcome. So, which one?”

“The right one,” Bucky said without looking. Because of course the one that Rocket preferred would end up being the _right_ one, the one most suited to Bucky’s needs, the best thing for Bucky himself.

“Would you like an engraving done?” the clocksmith inquired and Rocket’s eyes lit up.

_Oh, no. Here it comes._

“Yeah. How about ‘The Terran attached to this watch is property of--’”

Bucky gave Rocket’s arm a light, back-handed slap.

“OK, OK, just kidding. You got a form for me to fill out?”

She did and slid a tablet across the counter. While Rocket tapped this and selected that, the watchmaker assisted Bucky with choosing a band material and fastening, recording the necessary adjustments that would have to be made for a snug fit on his prosthetic arm.

“It’ll be ready for you in about thirty minutes,” she told them with a smile and they headed back out onto the street.

Rocket paused on the doorstep and sucked in a deep breath. His grin was bright and brimming with accomplishment.

“That felt good?” Bucky asked Rocket, who answered, “It’ll be even better to see you wearing it.”

“What about this?” Bucky angled his left arm forward. “I wear this day and night.”

Rocket reached up and smoothed his fingers over Bucky’s. “Nah, this is yours.”

“But you made it for me.”

“And you do whatever you wanna do -- or gotta do -- with it. It’s yours.” And Rocket wanted something of _his_ on Bucky.

Well, at least he wasn’t trying to convince Bucky to go around in a toga of soiled sex-sheets. Or lobbying for matching tattoos. As compromises went, this was a pretty good one.

Bucky smiled. “I really like the watch.”

Rocket’s expression softened and then twinged with emotion. “Good.”

When his fingers tightened around Bucky’s, Bucky knelt and lifted Rocket’s hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to the center of his palm. “Are we late enough yet?”

“Yeah,” Rocket agreed, brushing his thumb over Bucky’s beard. “Let’s go watch Quill squawk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “(I’m) in a spin, and I’m loving the spin I’m in” (from “That Old Black Magic” performed in 1943 by Glen Miller)
> 
> “We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars” (by Oscar Wilde from “Lady Windermere’s Fan”)
> 
> “humies are risk-takers” -- Rocket’s only met three humans in person (Quill, Stark, and Bucky) but finding out that a human penis doesn’t retract/tuck into the body (because Rocket’s kind of does in this series, but he’s got a bulge, yeah? We know this thanks to that pre-battle strut of Rocket’s in the first GotG movie) makes him think, “Wow, any species where their junk is just waving like a banner in the wind is gonna go for lots of body armor and battle berserking.” Quill, Stark, and Bucky pretty much reinforce this idea just by being themselves. (^_~)


	3. Chapter 3

Quill didn’t squawk. He crossed his arms over his chest and rolled his shoulders back. “Drax, I win the bet,” he announced, and Drax slammed a fist on the table in aggravation.

“No! We still do not know the reason for Bucky and Rocket’s lateness.”

Flicking a hand in their direction, Quill retorted, “It’s obvious. Just lookit the smug grin on Rocket’s face, eh?”

Bucky looked each of his friends in the eye -- Quill, Drax, Gamora, Mantis, and Groot -- challenging them to come to their own conclusions.

Gamora spoke up before things escalated. “For the sake of clarification, why are you two--” She glanced at her watch. “--almost twenty minutes late?”

“Tell the truth!” Mantis insisted.

Rocket shrugged. “Had to do some shopping.”

“HAH!” Drax barked in Quill’s face, and Bucky figured that the majority of empty liquor glasses that were cluttered and clinking on the rickety table had been imbibed by him and him alone. “I TOLD YOU THEY WERE NOT FORNICATING.”

Heads turned at an impressive distance from their table.

“No, that happened way earlier,” Rocket said, pulling a seat out for Bucky and then climbing onto the one to its left. “And also less earlier, but still -- earlier.”

Gamora leaned back in her seat. “Are we actually allowed to talk about this now?”

Bucky sat down and draped his left arm over the back of Rocket’s chair. “Gossiping behind our backs isn’t enough for you guys?”

“We’re a hot topic,” Rocket told him, wringing a grin out of Bucky, who agreed, “You can say that again.”

Quill rubbed a hand over his face. “Damn it, you two are gonna be even worse than you were before.”

“Probably,” Bucky assessed.

“Definitely,” Rocket insisted.

“Indefinitely?” Quill interrogated.

Bucky blinked at the hard look in his eyes, a gleam that brought to mind angry fathers and shotgun weddings.

Rocket scoffed. “Cool your jets.”

“What’d you buy?” Quill demanded like a dog with a bone.

“A really fantastic item,” Rocket replied lightly. “Wasn’t it, cutie?”

Bucky nodded. “Incredible.”

“The perfect fusion of ‘never mind’ and ‘none of your business,’” Rocket told Quill, and Bucky bit back a grin at Quill’s flabbergasted expression.

“How are you even learning all these--hold up. It’s you.” He narrowed his eyes at Bucky. “You’ve been teaching him Earth sass.”

Bucky shrugged because it honestly wasn’t his fault if Rocket picked up a thing or two here and there.

“The real question,” Gamora snarked at Quill, “is why haven’t _you_ been improving?”

“Oh. My. God. You guys put the double-S in A-hole.”

Rocket observed to Bucky, “Sounds proud, doesn’t he?”

“Uh-hm.”

Drax grinned. “Quill sounds IRRITATED, which is what I would be if I’d just lost a bet!”

“Uncool, man. You’re bringing the mood down.”

“Then perhaps,” a new voice said from behind Bucky, “we might get ‘down’ to business?”

Neither Bucky nor Rocket startled. Rocket had heard the man’s approaching footsteps even before Bucky had, and he’d patted the knife sheath on Bucky’s left hip. Bucky had slid his right hand up from his knee to his waist and hooked a thumb around the edge of his belt, just a twitch of his wrist away from a second, larger sheathed blade on his right.

Gamora was similarly poised because she’d had an unobstructed line of sight. Mantis, seated between the two of them, was oblivious and when Quill smiled brightly, so did she.

“Harkler! Been a long time! I don’t remember those piercings.”

“One for every patent,” the man said, moving into view, and Bucky immediately clocked the fact that Harkler was an A’askavariian.

Quill’s brows shot up to his hairline. He stood and held out a hand for Harkler to shake and then gestured for him to have a seat. “Bet you jangle in a strong breeze.”

“Not an issue on this rock,” Harkler replied, grinning with needle-like teeth.

“True, true. So, this is my crew.” Quill gestured, and when Harkler didn’t bother to take his eyes off of Quill, Quill skipped the introductions: “And we have a bet going.”

Drax murmured, “How is our bet his concern?”

“No, no. The other bet,” Quill quickly clarified. “See, I told them that if anyone in the galaxy knew anything about who’s looking to blow up a moon, it’d be you.”

Harkler jerked back with a squint. “What kind of moron would want to blow up a moon?”

Rocket sneered, “What kind of idiot _doesn’t_ see the point of blowing up a moon? It’d be fun.”

Harkler tapped his long fingernails on the tabletop. “De-stabalizing the host planet’s axis, wrecking havoc on ecosystems that have been evolving for millions of years -- what a fantastic Friday night.”

“So your answer is ‘no,’” Rocket sussed out. “And if the expert ain’t got any ideas, then that means _you_ lose, Quill.”

Quill slapped his palm down on the table. To Rocket, he barked, “Would it kill you to call me Star-Lord?”

“Probably.”

Gamora jerked her chin at the A’askavariian. “You were saying?”

“I was saying,” Harkler continued, “that there’s not much need for a weapon of that magnitude. Not even for space salvage.”

“Let’s say, hypothetically,” Quill finagled, “that someone -- some bathsit crazy lunatic, maybe--” He paused for dramatic effect but did not glance Rocket’s way. “--built one. Hear anything about _that?”_

“Not a peep.”

Quill sighed. “You’re really not gonna help me out here, man?”

“Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t. Nothing like that has been on anyone’s shopping list.”

Gamora remarked, “I find that hard to believe.”

“Oh, plenty of other interesting products have been changing hands -- there’s still no shortage of short-changed governments with a grudge against their neighbors. But to target a moon? No. There are dozens of cheaper, deadlier, more horrifying ways to settle a score. A device with that much raw power -- that’s old school.”

Rocket bared his teeth.

Gamora looked to Quill, who floundered, and so Bucky said into the silence: “What about incidentals?”

The A’askavariian deigned to turn and look at him. “How do you mean?”

“If blowing up a moon is _a means_ to an end -- a less obvious or indirect end -- how would someone make sure it’s worked?”

Tucking his menacing sneer away and turning toward Bucky, Rocket mused, “You’re saying the goal was to alter the gravitational field in that system.”

Bucky didn’t know what he was saying. He only had a hunch -- an Army sergeant’s gut feeling -- that there was more to this than what they’d seen. Missing steps. A hidden agenda. “Or misdirection.”

Harkler eyed Bucky with burgeoning wariness. “I can’t speculate without taking a look at the data, but as for devices capable of gravitational mapping, yes. I did hear something. I can give you a name and a location. Neither are particularly ‘fresh.’ Either or both could be expired.”

Or completely unrelated to the issue at hand.

Quill blithely decided to risk it. “Let’s talk terms.”

Although Bucky followed the negotiations, he didn’t open his mouth again. Gamora and Rocket were on point -- both were backing Quill’s metaphorical pocketbook here -- so Bucky kept his attention on their surroundings. Drax gave the appearance of being on the lookout, but it was even odds that the man was simply daydreaming. And Groot, sure, he was extremely effective in a fight, but he wasn’t exactly pre-emptive.

But no one in the recreation hall seemed to have any interest in their group. Well, except for a young woman with red hair and speckled skin who smiled and winked at Bucky when his gaze passed by, but he ignored her and let his left hand curl around Rocket’s shoulder, his thumb rubbing circles in his lover’s fur.

Five minutes later, Quill was waving Harkler out the door. Transaction complete.

“Well, that was relatively painless,” Quill assessed.

Rocket snorted. “Speak for yourself. It hurt just looking at the guy. Do all A’askavariians smell like someone pissed in the fuel tank?”

Quill responded, wide-eyed, “I wouldn’t know.”

“Quill has only lain with one A’askavariian,” Drax helpfully reminded everyone.

Quill rounded on him. “Why do you still remember that?”

“It is revolting.” And, apparently, that explained it.

Rocket checked the time and got down from his chair. “It’s been thirty minutes.”

Bucky stood up.

Quill asked, “There someplace you’ve gotta be?”

“Gotta make a pick up.” Rocket shrugged. “If you bozos wanna tag along, I ain’t gonna stop you.”

Bucky considered that for a moment, glancing at Rocket who returned his look in silence. Bucky said, “Me either.”

“I am curious,” Mantis openly admitted.

“I am Groot.”

“I will accompany you both.”

Gamora straightened from her chair with an expectant look.

Quill slapped his thigh. “Sure. What the hell.”

Five minutes later, everyone tromped into the clock shop. Following a quick look around, Quill let out a low whistle. “I heard about this place. Some of the best timepieces in the galaxy here.”

“Keep your hands where I can see them,” Gamora muttered in Quill’s ear, and he gave her a boyishly guilty grin.

“Here you are, sirs,” the clockmaker said. If she was perturbed by the menagerie crowding her shop, she didn’t look it. Probably because she had one hell of a blaster tucked under the sales counter.

Not that she was going to need it.

Rocket very nearly jogged up to the display case and jumped onto the provided chair. Smiling, he carefully accepted the box and then, taking a deep breath, presented it to Bucky. He pried open the lid.

“A fine piece of expensive gadgetry,” Drax observed from behind Bucky’s shoulder.

Quill leaned in and let out a second, even lower whistle.

Gamora’s brows arched.

Mantis said, “That is amazing,” and Groot hummed in agreement.

Bucky had never seen such a gorgeous wristwatch in his life. He tried to be gentle as he lifted it off of its post and then he turned it over to read the engraving Rocket had chosen:

> _Bright eyes, all we need is time. Yours, Rocket_

Bucky was at a loss. His eyes stung and his tongue seemed to have doubled in size and, even if he could have managed a few words, he couldn’t think of any that would be enough. So he cleared his throat and held the watch out to Rocket, offering his wrist in a mute request for assistance.

Rocket glanced at the inscription and then met Bucky’s gaze with a tender look. He wrapped the band around Bucky’s arm, nimbly securing the buckle. His paws lingered for a moment longer than necessary and then he released Bucky.

With something akin to reverence, Rocket told the watchmaker, “It’s perfect. Thank you.”

“It was my pleasure, gentlemen. Many happy ventures to you both.”

There was something in her voice and -- when Bucky checked -- in her expression that made him think that he and Rocket weren’t the first couple to visit her shop in search of something beyond what was shown on the shelves.

Bucky looked to Rocket, smiling. He moved back, giving Rocket room to jump down from the seat, and then everyone shuffled back outside.

As they made their way toward the dock, Mantis begged Bucky to show her the watch again and he obligingly lifted his wrist.

“That must have cost a pretty penny,” Quill said, nodding to the work of art on Bucky’s arm. “I’ll say this, Rocket -- you sure know how to treat a guy.”

Rocket’s paw slid across the back of Bucky’s thigh. “Not just a guy,” he insisted, looking up at Bucky, and Bucky felt that look: the combined weight of all the moments leading up to this instant merged into one undeniable certainty. It was like being in an elevator, shooting upward with gravity wrapped around his feet and pulling at his belly because--

Bucky wasn’t just a guy. Rocket wasn’t just his lover. This gift wasn’t just a watch.

Bucky paused and crouched in the middle of sidewalk, bringing their eyes level, and agreed, “The only one for me is you, and you for me.”

Rocket’s paws lifted to Bucky’s face and, in a rare public display of somber affection, angled their brows together.

“That was beautiful,” Drax blurted.

Gamora nodded.

Groot smiled.

Mantis sniffled.

Quill tilted his head back and mused, “That kinda sounded like a line from a song.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “The only one for me is you, and you for me” (from “Happy Together” by The Turtles performed in 1967)
> 
> Sure, the commitment things might seem to be happening pretty fast between Bucky and Rocket, but I knew I was in love with Mister Manny by our second date and, by our fifth, I knew he was the one for me. Thirteen years later, here we both still are. (^_~)
> 
> “This gift wasn’t just a watch.” -- this is actually a HUGE deal for Rocket because he has just spent a significant chunk of his savings and, for Rocket, money = ability. Such as: the ability to go and do whatever you want -- in short, FREEDOM, which was what he did not have in his earliest memories in the laboratory. The fact that Rocket is putting THAT on Bucky for Bucky to safeguard is like WOW. So much trust and faith. Serious Commitment.


	4. Chapter 4

It was going to take one hundred and twenty-six individual hyper-jumps to reach their destination. Bucky took watch with Gamora during the first stretch of downtime after the _Milano_ popped out of the first series of forty-four jump points.

It always felt weird to be sitting in what was (to Bucky’s mind) Rocket’s seat in the cockpit, but Gamora didn’t seem to be having any trouble making herself comfortable in Quill’s.

They had about ninety minutes on the clock and Bucky was debating the merits of asking how Gamora had kept busy at their last stop when she glanced over at Bucky’s watch and, with a knowing grin, said, “Rocket had it engraved, didn’t he?”

Bucky smirked. “You wanna know what it says.”

“Of course I do. But you shouldn’t say.”

Because if Rocket had wanted everyone to know what was in his heart, he would have said it out loud like Bucky had, kneeling in an alien street, surrounded by their family of jackasses. It hadn’t exactly been a “Til Death Do Us Part” moment, but Bucky had meant it, and so had Rocket.

“It’s romantic, isn’t it?” Gamora pressed, unable to help herself.

Bucky hummed in disagreement. “It’s… profound.”

“Profound. Really? From Rocket?”

“He has his moments.”

“No,” she argued on a sly drawl. “He has you.” She reached across the aisle, clamped a hand on his shoulder, and gave him a friendly squeeze.

And this was why Bucky liked sharing duties with Gamora. She didn’t pry. She didn’t tease. She simply said her piece and then allowed comfortable silence to fill in the seconds and minutes thereafter.

Quill and Drax relieved them after about an hour so that they could get the last two servings of whatever Mantis had put together for their meal. It was some kind of pilaf or paella that tasted vaguely of apples. Bucky didn’t ask.

Then everyone belted in for thirty-seven jumps. Rocket and Mantis next had the cockpit and Bucky helped Groot with some galley chores while music blasted from the _Milano’s_ audio system.

The final forty-three jumps left Bucky with a slight headache that everyone else seemed to share: Quill’s smile was forced; Rocket growled at the glowing console; Gamora massaged her left temple with one hand while the other tapped out and issued a request for landing permission; Mantis winced at the sight of the space station up ahead; Groot groaned and fidgeted; and Drax tilted his head back and declared, “I shall never drink anything purple again.”

“It’s the hyper drive,” Rocket assessed, so naturally Quill had to challenge him: “How d’you know?”

“Can’t you guys hear that?”

“Uh, no.”

Maybe Rocket thought Quill was messing with him, because he called back: “Bucky?”

“I don’t hear anything out of the ordinary.”

“Man. My ears are bleeding. This is harsh. Trust me, it’s the hyper drive. Gonna need some time to re-calibrate it.” Before Quill could ask, Rocket estimated, “Six hours. Give or take.”

“That’s just peachy,” Quill grumped, acknowledging their berth assignment with a flick of a switch and angling the _Milano_ into port.

Gamora said, “It’s fine. It might take us a while to locate this buyer Harkler heard about.”

“Yeah, well, try not to piss anyone off until I’ve got everything put back together,” Rocket advised. “Or, just plan to finish whatever shit you start.”

“When don’t we?” Gamora pointed out.

As Quill dialed back on the thrusters and glided the _Milano_ up to the docking clamp, he asked, “Who do you want to give you a hand?”

“Bucky.”

“Uh-huh. And is it actually gonna get done if we leave you two alone without a chaperone?”

“It’ll get done. Damn, it’s not like I’m wearing exploding pants here.”

Bucky had to laugh. It hurt his head but, shit, that was too funny to hold back on.

Quill cued the clamp and waited for it to latch on before he shut down the engine and immediately there was a change in the air pressure. Or something. Everyone breathed easier, even Rocket.

“Is that so?” Quill retorted as Drax and Mantis unbuckled and Groot looked from one pilot’s seat to the other like he was watching a tennis match. “I seem to recall someone’s pants taking a tumble down the ladder the last time we let you guys take watch together.”

“Those weren’t my pants.”

Bucky wiped a hand over his face, remembering. “In my defense, I wasn’t the one who triggered the detonator.”

Drax clambered down the ladder with clear haste.

Mantis, visibly curious, left the cockpit much, much slower.

Rocket looked back over his shoulder, eyes narrowed. “Way to throw me under the bath, cutie.”

“It’s ‘bus,’” Quill muttered, “not ‘bath,’ and I’ve decided I don’t care. No, no -- I don’t wanna hear any more. We--” He gestured to Gamora and Groot, who were still seated. “--are leaving and you two are leaving your clothes on. Aren’t you?”

Rocket smirked. “If it makes you feel better to think that.”

Quill waited until both Gamora and Groot had followed Drax and Mantis, and then he squinted at Rocket and Bucky in turns. A silent threat. But he left.

Rocket waited until the aft hatch opened and then closed again before he snickered. “That was almost too easy.”

“Exploding pants?” Bucky repeated around another round of chuckles.

“Exploding pants,” Rocket confirmed. “Want me to demonstrate?”

Bucky got up from his seat and crouched behind Rocket’s. Breathing against the back of Rocket’s right ear, he rumbled, “Hell yeah, but it’s my turn to choose the place.”

Rocket growled quietly. “Hey. I didn’t torture you with promises-promises.”

“But I’m not as nice as you are.”

“Wow,” Rocket replied, blinking. “That is so not what anyone else in the galaxy would say.”

“But you know me better than they do, don’t you?” Bucky dared a quick, light bite to the edge of Rocket’s ear. “Now let’s calibrate a hyper drive.”

“You--are--evil.”

There actually was a reason why Bucky was Rocket’s go-to guy for internal ship repairs: Bucky could actually follow Rocket’s instructions. A feat that left Drax bored, Mantis confused, Gamora impatient, Quill frustrated, and Groot holding the guts of the _Milano_ in his branches instead of the single component that Rocket had instructed him to carefully detach. Maybe Bucky couldn’t reach through narrow spaces as effectively as Mantis, Gamora, or Groot, but (as he’d once reminded Rocket) that was why God had made long-handled tools.

 _“Long-handled, huh?”_ Rocket had drawled and, yeah, the pants tumbling down the ladder not two minutes later had definitely been Bucky’s. Still, not -- his -- fault.

That was Bucky’s story and he was sticking to it.

“Can we make out first?” Rocket wheedled and Bucky resisted because five minutes could (and usually did) warp into an hour… or two, but when Rocket jumped up onto his seat, spun around, and bussed his muzzle over Bucky’s lips, the heat and friction wiped the protest from Bucky’s mind.

 _To hell with the hyper drive,_ he thought and cupped Rocket’s face in his hands, his fingertips going right for Rocket’s ears because that groan -- yes, the one Rocket was exhaling right now -- was the best thing ever.

Or maybe not. Maybe the feel of Rocket’s claws scraping gently at Bucky’s nape was the best. Or the feel of fur against his ear. Or the rough tongue lapping at his neck. Or -- _shit hell Goddamn_ \-- the teeth that nipped at the muscle of his shoulder.

When paws squirmed beneath his jacket and fisted in the fabric of his shirt, Bucky had to stop. Had to stop Rocket and himself. Jesus, they were making out in the cockpit with half a dozen ships and open-air catwalks in clear view.

Pressing his forehead to Rocket’s, Bucky reached for those hot little hands. “Save some of this for later? I’ll owe you one.”

“What do I get if I save all of it for later?”

Bucky grinned and Rocket’s whiskers tickled his lips. “No arguments from me.” He massaged the base of Rocket’s ears, making Rocket whimper out a very inventive string of expletives. Some of them were even in English.

“OK, OK. Let’s fix the frickin’ hyper drive.”

The job didn’t take six hours (thank God), but it felt like it. Bucky winced through all the contorting he had to do to reach the access panel and release levers, his pants way too tight. (It would have made an interesting argument in favor of a “No pants in the cockpit” rule. Quill would be such a fan.)

And then, when the device was at last sitting on the floor of the cockpit and Bucky was acting the part of tool jockey -- handing over the items Rocket needed and taking back the ones that were in his way -- Rocket’s gaze kept straying to Bucky’s navel, chest, and neck. He licked his chops every other minute and, at one point, asked, “How’s that game strip poker go again? There’s a hyper drive re-calibration version, ain’t there?”

“Damn it, Rocket. If you want my pants to come off, you’ll have to wait.”

“I hate waiting.”

“I’ll make it worth your while. Be good.”

“I hate being good even more.”

Bucky checked his new watch. “In three hours, I’ll be making a liar outta you.”

“You’re on.”

So while Rocket ran the re-calibrated and reassembled and re-installed hyper drive through a series of tests, Bucky looked up the local hotels and booked a room.

“Where to, bright eyes?” Rocket asked as they locked up the ship.

“It’s a surprise,” Bucky answered and tried not to enjoy the feel of claws curling against the back of his thigh too obviously.

Following the station map that he’d memorized on board, Bucky meandered through the streets, choosing the path of least resistance in the crowd to avoid getting jostled and separated from Rocket. In a rare bubble of open space, Bucky paused to ask, “This place seem busier than usual?”

Rocket sniffed, his muzzle scrunching with distaste. “Eh, it happens. Movements out here are random for the most part, so sometimes you end up in a ghost town and sometimes you get this.” He threw out an arm, his paw nearly smacking into the next wave of space sailors on shore leave.

Bucky grunted. “Welcome to happy hour.”

“We should check in with Quill and them,” Rocket said, sounding so resigned that it pulled a smile from Bucky.

“No need for a call.” He pointed across the way and, sure enough, the whole gang was just inside a bar, gathered around a lit tabletop.

At the next break in traffic, Bucky and Rocket jogged over.

“Hey! Has it been six hours already?” Quill asked, his attention riveted to the table. It looked like some kind of game board and it appeared that everyone had some sort of character to move around.

“Not yet,” Gamora replied, pressing a command button on the flat screen and rolling a set of holodice at the center.

Bucky said, “Done ahead of schedule.”

“What you doing, man?” Rocket asked Groot, who pointed to a green-skinned faerie child character with fluttering wings and a sword that was easily twice as long as the wielder was tall.

“I am Groot.”

“It is a battle exercise,” Drax rephrased, sounding completely sober. “I am honing my strategies against enemy hordes.”

“You’re getting your butt kicked,” Quill told him, and then grinned in response to Drax’s poker-faced threat: “That is what I wish for you to believe.”

Mantis asked Bucky and Rocket, “Would you like to play? We are about to raid a citadel and earn many colorful pixels.”

Bucky looked at Rocket who looked back at him with an inquisitive tilt of his head. “One drink?” he suggested and Bucky spun an abandoned chair toward the table for Rocket.

“Be right back,” he promised and wove through the crowd to the bar. He ordered two Aakonian ales and when he returned to the table, Rocket gestured for Bucky to share his seat. As he lowered himself into the chair, Rocket smoothly climbed his left arm and up to his shoulder, keeping his tail clear of the mugs Bucky clutched in each hand. Then he settled in the crook of Bucky’s left arm and collected his drink.

“Thanks, cutie.”

“My pleasure, tiger.”

Rocket’s gaze darted over the table as the siege began and Bucky started counting down to--

“Hey, you jackasses gonna need some firepower to break outta that dungeon,” Rocket announced, dexterous fingers already flying over the control panel. “Hows about being my backup, bright eyes?”

“Sure, deal me in to this madness.”

Rocket cackled and, ten seconds later, their characters -- both centaurs with an impressive arsenal of firepower -- blasted through the dungeon wall, freeing Drax’s ogre and Groot’s faerie.

Bucky reached the flat dregs of his ale just as the citadel fell and, as promised, beautiful fireworks flashed above the table and mystical game items appeared on the tabletop screen.

Mantis clapped. “I like this game!”

Drax smiled kindly at her. “Because you like pretty things.”

“The world could use more pretty things,” Gamora said and Mantis insisted, “There is always room for beauty in the world.”

Bucky felt Rocket shift and, anticipating a remark of some kind, turned to meet his gaze--

\--and found himself being kissed and nuzzled instead. Letting go of the (more or less) empty mug, Bucky combed his fingers through the fur on Rocket’s cheek, grinning when Quill huffed.

“Well, that didn’t take long.”

“Quill. They’re cute,” Gamora defended as Bucky leaned back and Rocket snidely parroted, “Yeah, Quill. We’re frickin’ adorable. Get with the program already.”

Quill rotated his head on his neck in an idle stretch. “Hey. At least you’re not pissing on him.”

“Why the hell would I do that?”

Drax explained, “It is how many simple creatures mark their territory.”

Raising both hands in defense, Quill blurted, “I wasn’t saying you were some kind of animal, OK?”

“Yes. You were.”

“OK, I was. But the cool kind. Like a--a--a wolf!”

Rocket pulled back and looked at Bucky. “Is a wolf anything like a tiger?”

“No stripes.”

“Should I be offended?”

“Be as offended as you want.”

Rocket snarled at Quill.

“Damn it,” Quill cussed, “what the hell are you riling him up for?”

Bucky arched his brows because, um, that should have been obvious.

Quill got it, though, and rolled his eyes. “Don’t you two got someplace to be that isn’t here bothering us?”

“They are not bothering me,” Mantis argued.

Gamora smiled. “Me either.”

“I am Groot.”

Rocket flinched back from Groot’s suggestive smile. “No, we are not gonna kiss again, you pervy stick of wood.”

Bucky snorted. “Wanna get outta here?” he asked Rocket.

“Hell, yes.”

Bucky pushed the seat back and let his left forearm lower for Rocket to leap from, then he stood up. “No contact yet?” he assumed and Gamora nodded.

“Not yet. We’ll call if we find him.” She looked at Rocket. “So don’t power down your comms.”

“Yeah, yeah. C’mon, bright eyes. I’m ready to check out that thing you promised to show me.” And then Rocket winked very deliberately and in full view of everyone at the table.

“Oh my, God,” Quill moaned, “you did that on purpose.”

Bucky offered an irreverent salute in farewell as Drax’s hand landed on Quill’s shoulder to deliver a commiserating pat. Gamora and Mantis were too busy giggling to offer him any sympathy. And besides, it was Quill’s own fault for having such a filthy mind.

Groot waved, fingers waggling obscenely.

“Catch you on the flip side!” Rocket shouted.

They left the bar and started weaving their way around carousing revelers in the street. They passed three bars in succession and then approached a fourth that was so packed that loud patrons and alcohol fumes were spilling out past the open doors.

Rocket ignored the stares they were drawing as his paw rode the back of Bucky’s thigh, and when he spoke up and over the cacophony, Bucky heard a sneer in his voice: “Y’know, you’d think what with all the shenanigans Quill’s supposedly gotten up to with girls from Kree and Krylor and a whole bunch of other places that don’t necessarily start with a K--”

 _No kidding,_ Bucky was on the verge of saying (because, yes, he could already see where Rocket was going with this) when someone swung into his path. They collided. The drink in the man’s hand sloshed and Rocket dodged the splash with an irritated growl.

“Watch it!” the drunk patron -- possibly a Centaurian -- bellowed right in Bucky’s face.

Bucky wasn’t impressed. He dismissed the alien with barely a glance because, frankly, it wasn’t worth getting into it over an ounce of spilled liquor. Not when he and Rocket had a room waiting for them.

“Hey. I seen you before,” one of the probably-Centaurian’s friends slurred.

A third buddy -- a Pluvian -- supplied the memory for him: “Them’s the two who was making out in that cockpit!”

“Disgusting,” the second spat.

Bucky stopped. Turned. Squared off with the man. “Apologize.”

“What for?”

The Centaurian leaned in, up close and right in Bucky’s face. “You apologize for polluting the galaxy, dinky-dicked Terran!”

Rocket snarled, ears flat against his skull. “First of all,” Rocket barked, “my mate’s dick is none of your frickin’ business! And second, you can only dream of how great it is. So why don’t you find yourself a nice little corner and go do that, huh?”

The Centaurian grinned as his friends laughed. “I’m sure it feels big enough in your little vermin hole--”

_BAM!_

The Centaurian flew backward through the open doors, crashed into a table, and then toppled the one behind it. All tangent revelry came to a screeching halt. Glasses rolled across the floor. Bucky’s boot tread splashed and crunched in the spillage as he stalked the dazed man. His right hand stung a bit from the sucker punch, but that didn’t stop him from grabbing the man’s throat and hauling him up onto the tips of his toes.

“That,” Bucky said very, very quietly, “was my right hand.” He lifted his left, let the Centaurian get a good long look at it. “If you don’t wanna find out how the left compares, then you swallow that shit back down your gullet.”

The man choked, wheezed, winced as he struggled for breath through a very broken face. With a warning squeeze to his grimy neck, Bucky dropped him onto the slippery and shard-strewn floor. Then he turned and walked away (before the man’s drunken friends remembered that they were carrying weapons).

He shouldered and shoved through the doorway (before the rage in Bucky’s veins pushed into his skull).

He marched past the gawkers (before the building pressure -- the Winter Soldier -- took over completely).

_Oh, God._

“Bucky! BUCKY!”

Someone was shouting after him but he couldn’t--couldn’t stop--he was shaking, trembling--couldn’t get a breath-- _couldn’t BREATHE!_

He was in the middle of the street. People were looking at him. He spun away. Lunged for the shadows -- an alley -- the smell of a waste disposal unit. His guts churned and he tried to brace himself, tried to aim the bile and vomit away from witnesses and into the chute--

He heaved. Heaved. Heaved.

“BUCKY!”

God, if he could just catch his breath, just--

“Are you alright?” a stranger asked calmly.

Bucky blinked through the tears and found a folded handkerchief being held out to him. The sickening feel of regurgitated stomach contents soaking through his beard prompted him to accept when he had every intention of refusing.

“Yeah. Thanks,” he mumbled, hastily scrubbing at his chin and mouth.

The man standing with him in the alley was almost Bucky’s height. Bald. Mocha-colored skin. A warrior in his prime. He smiled as if amused by Bucky’s reluctant gratitude, and Bucky had the crazy thought that this man was human. There was no real reason for Bucky to think so -- plenty of non-humans looked human enough and Bucky had never seen anyone from Earth wearing darkish-yellow robes like his. The symbols embroidered on his belt were gibberish to Bucky as well.

“I take it you don’t recommend that establishment.” The human nodded back the way Bucky had come.

“BUCKY!!”

“Not for the atmosphere, no. Excuse me.” He sucked in a deep breath and forced his quaking legs to take him back to the main thoroughfare. Rocket was twirling this way and that in the middle of the bustling street, sniffing the air and trying to get a bead on Bucky’s location.

“Rocket!” he called and watched those ears twitch in recognition an instant before Rocket’s whole body jerked and he leaped at Bucky.

“What the hell! Don’t frickin’ bail on me like that!”

“Sorry.” He crouched down so that Rocket could yell at him face to face. “Had to toss some cookies.”

Rocket’s nose wrinkled up at the smell lingering on Bucky’s breath. Without a word, he pried open Bucky’s clenched fist and looked at the handkerchief.

 _Shit._ Bucky spun around -- it wasn’t as if he could give the soiled cloth back to its owner, but he could at least do a better job of acknowledging the kindness -- but the man was gone. 

“Bucky?”

Still shaky and panting lightly, he turned back to Rocket.

“C’mon, bright eyes. I’ve had enough of crowds. Where we going?”

Bucky mumbled the name of the hotel and, when Rocket’s paw clamped onto his wrist and tugged, he got to his feet and numbly followed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It may seem like Bucky’s response to a nasty comment is way hella out of proportion, but some triggers are like that. In the previous fic, it’s implied that Bucky went through an activation sequence at the hands of the Skrull, but he didn’t freak out over it. Maybe because those events were right in his face. This time, the violation is implied. (We are now getting to the “implied non-consensual acts” part of the story and it’s a tangled mess in Bucky’s head, so it’s going to take quite a bit of time to sort out, especially since he doesn’t want to think about it.)
> 
> The RPG activities in this chapter are totally inspired by Decepticonsensual’s fic “A Fool Unto Himself” (here on AO3). I honestly have no idea if this is canon or fanon; I certainly don’t mean to pinch from Decepticonsensual -- I JUST LOVE IT SO MUCH. (^_^)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: reference to non-consensual acts (not specifically sexual (because I think the violations Bucky survives in canon are bad enough), but Bucky’s reaction could be interpreted that way), angst, sex talk

“What exactly happened back there?” Rocket asked as he locked the door to their rented room. It was cramped but clean. Across from the bed, there was a vanity with a stool. Bucky lowered himself onto it, head in his hands and the refolded handkerchief pressed to his sweaty forehead.

“Some meathead pissed me off,” he muttered.

Rocket approached and rubbed Bucky’s forearms. “Yeah, I got that part. But then you freaked out.”

“Yup.”

There was a beat of silence before Rocket prompted, “That would be the part I don’t get.”

Bucky opened his mouth. Rocket waited.

Bucky said, “I need to get cleaned up.”

“Bucky--”

The bathroom door shut on Rocket’s protest. Bucky turned on the sink taps and started washing his hands, then splashed water on his face, then gargled and so what if his jacket sleeves (and the shirt sleeves underneath) were getting soaked. But no matter how many times he scrubbed and rinsed, he just couldn’t get the feeling of filth off.

It was his skin, he decided. It itched. He slammed the tap shut and cranked on the shower, tossed his clothes on the floor and climbed in and-- _yes, this._ Running water. Washing over his scalp and and neck and chest. Just, washing it all away. Erasing the clinging stench of something foul and oily hanging on his shoulders.

He stood under the spray until the room’s ration of recycled water ran out, and then he stood there in the steam, arms braced against the shower liner.

And when the steam was gone, he reached for a towel and scrubbed some heat into his skin. And when the towel was too soaked to offer any warmth, he got dressed.

He opened the door to the room and found Rocket sitting on the edge of the bed. He looked Bucky up and down, from his damp hair to his buckled boots, and sat up straight, startled.

“I’m not talking about it,” Bucky stated. “That’s non-negotiable.” And if Rocket was going to insist otherwise, then he’d leave. He would and he could. Boots were made for walking.

Rocket drew a slow breath, expression fierce, but his voice was gentle when he said, “I ain’t sleeping in this bed without you. Take your boots off.”

Bucky waited until Rocket scooted over to the other side of the mattress before he complied, but he left his socks on. His jacket and knives, too. He placed his boots on the floor next to the head of the bed and lay down on top of the covers.

For a long moment, they kept to their respective sides of the bed, observing an invisible line running between them. But then Rocket reached out, his claws and fingertips tracing over the watch Bucky was still wearing.

Bucky closed his eyes. “Shit, I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to get it wet.”

“Ain’t nuthin’ you can do to this that it can’t survive.”

Bucky considered that for a moment and then angled his chin to meet Rocket’s searching gaze. “Takes a lickin’ and keeps on tickin’?”

“A licking?” Rocket echoed, brows scrunched, and there was no way Bucky could resist trying to ease that frown.

Lifting his right hand up and rubbing the pad of his thumb over Rocket’s scowl lines, he explained, “That’s what I just gave that peeping tom.”

Rocket’s smile was pure temptation. “Next time, use your left.” Paws spanned Bucky’s flesh-and-blood bicep, and even through three layers of fabric, he swore he felt the heat of those hands.

Bucky teased, “The comparison’ll be off. Two different body masses. Maybe gravity--”

“So let’s go find that blue bag of shit and you hit him again.”

That got a chuckle out of Bucky. His spine relaxed against the mattress. Rocket wiggled closer until he could press his forehead to Bucky’s shoulder, neck, jaw. “Seriously, bright eyes, don’t vanish on me like that. When the next jolt hits, take me along for the ride.”

Bucky’s fingers gently tugged at the fur on the back of Rocket’s head, a rhythmic massage of sorts. “I might not have a choice next time.”

“Damn right. ‘Cuz I’m coming with you.”

Bucky sighed, defeated, because that wasn’t what he’d meant at all, but if he put his fears into words he would have to face them.

Rocket leaned back and studied his face. “You didn’t take off on purpose.” It wasn’t a revelation or a question. It was a fact. “But you made it back all on your own.”

“That wasn’t progress.”

“I just call ‘em like I see ‘em.” Claws combed through Bucky’s still-damp hair and down to his jacket. Rocket tugged on the placket. “You really gonna be able to sleep in all these layers?” 

Bucky exhaled. “Won’t be able to sleep without them.”

In truth, he didn’t expect he’d be able to sleep at all, but Rocket didn’t call him on it.

“OK,” he said, and wedged himself between Bucky’s arm and his side, fitting his skull into the curve of Bucky’s armpit. “Good thing this one’s not ticklish.”

“Wonder why,” Bucky mused dryly; Rocket was settled on his left side.

“Hmm, still you,” he murmured, nosing at the fabric and breathing deep.

Chuckling, Bucky reached for the light switch and turned off the lamps. The only light remaining was a soft, yellow glow from under the bathroom door.

The yellow glow. Bucky closed his eyes to blot it out. Ignore it. But it only grew, surrounding him until it was all he could see over the ventilation mask attached to his face.

“He’s ready to be moved,” someone said. A voice he didn’t know, hadn’t heard before. That didn’t surprise him. The scientists were interchangeable. Every time he killed one, another took the dead man’s place.

The sound of the lever release -- that was familiar -- and he fell into the arms of two soldiers. The one under his right arm -- the fabric of the uniform burned his chilled skin. Shivers wracked his body despite the sweat on his brow, clumping his hair. His mouth was so dry he couldn’t speak. But then, there was no reason for him to. Not yet.

He was dropped into the chair. Clamps locked around his limbs. A mouth guard was wedged between his teeth. He knew what was coming. They were emptying him again. Zipping his skull open and pouring his brain out. What would he lose this time? He couldn’t remember his parents’ faces, his birth date, his own name--

“It’s me this time,” another voice told him, a voice he _knew._ He looked over just as a paw touched his right arm. “They’re gonna take me away.”

Brown eyes and scoop-shaped ears. Not a raccoon, but something more, some _one_ more.

“Bye, Bucky.”

 _No. No!_ Bucky reared up, but the restraints held. The chair creaked as he struggled, struggled to remember--

_What IS HIS NAME!?_

The whir of the apparatus warming up filled his ears--

_NO, DAMN IT, NO!_

He heard the sizzle and pop of electricity. He saw the cranium cage lowering--

_NO-NO-NO, NOT YET I JUST NEED A LITTLE MORE TIME!_

He felt the scrape of claws sliding away, slipping from his skin and, in that moment, he remembered. The name came to him, broke over him in a wave of breathtaking emotion -- _ROCKET_ \-- and then the electrodes pressed against his skin and the name was just as swiftly snatched away.

He sat up, gasping, grabbing for the restraint still clamped on his left arm--

“Hey, bright eyes, it’s me. You’re safe.”

Bucky paused, blinked. “What the hell?” Why couldn’t he get this last restraint undone? Every time he almost got a grip on it, it shifted. Up his arm and down again and why was there fur? That… that wasn’t right.

“I’m gonna hit the lights. OK, Bucky?”

Bucky. His name was Bucky. “OK.”

And then the yellow glow -- the cryo-pod at the corner of his vision -- dissolved. “What the hell?” he said again to the strange, bright room. He didn’t recognize it. It wasn’t his. This wasn’t home. Home was… actually, he couldn’t be sure what home was.

“You’re in a hotel room. You were dreaming.”

He looked himself over. The clothes, the weapons, it all felt real. It all fit. He glanced toward the other person in the room. He was poised at arm’s length with one paw pressed to Bucky’s shoulder.

He said again, “You were dreaming.”

 _Rocket,_ he realized-remembered-reveled in relief. This was Rocket and the watch Bucky was wearing had been a gift from him. Bucky’s current left arm was Rocket’s design, the result of weeks of secretive labor. The boots -- Bucky wasn’t wearing the boots that Rocket had negotiated with Kraglin for. “Where are the boots you got for me?” Bucky asked, but he was already leaning over the edge of the bed and-- “Oh. Here they are.”

He licked his lips -- God, he was thirsty -- and managed a deep breath. “Sorry I woke you up.”

“I’m not,” Rocket blurted. “Sorry, that is.” He inched closer, petting Bucky’s hair. “That looked intense. Not one of your usual, was it?”

Bucky shook his head. No, he hadn’t gotten so completely sucked in to the horror since… since… He squinted, straining to remember the name of the city… Budapest, no, Bucharest. He’d made a habit of zipping himself up in cheap sleeping bags to keep from putting his fist through the apartment walls.

“Can you talk to me about it?”

Again, Bucky shook his head.

Rocket pressed a hand over Bucky’s heart, beneath his jacket. “You’re way too wound up to go back to sleep.”

Bucky doubted he’d be able to sleep here and he definitely didn’t want to try. He reached for his boots. “I don’t wanna stay in this place.”

“OK. Let’s head back to the _Milano.”_

The walk back was silent. Awkward. Bucky couldn’t remember the silence ever being like this between them. As fragile as crystal. Something was missing. He didn’t realize what it was until Rocket was entering the code that opened the _Milano’s_ aft hatch: Rocket hadn’t touched him since he’d slid off of the bed. Bucky had walked the entire way back to the space station dock without feeling Rocket’s hand on the back of his thigh.

God, he felt like he was one gust of wind away from cracking. Shattering. And that was when Bucky realized that it hadn’t been the silence that had felt fragile; it was him.

Gamora was making some java. “Would you like some, Rocket? Bucky?”

Bucky declined, or… he thought he did. He’d meant to. But once he was sitting in the cockpit, staring blankly out the windows at the guts of the station’s docking structure, he wondered if he really had said anything to Gamora. Jesus, what the hell was wrong with him?

Bucky shook himself and glanced down at the navigation screen. It was on. He’d been plotting a course to somewhere called Jerupu. He’d never even heard of it before.

Maybe he did need a cup of something caffeinated after all.

The sound of hands and feet on the cockpit ladder had Bucky erasing his progress on the navigation console.

“Hey, you made it back in one piece,” Quill greeted jovially.

“You got money riding on it?”

Quill shrugged. “Well,” he replied, which wasn’t really a reply at all. But then he said, “C’mon. We got some errands to run.”

Bucky pushed himself out of the seat. “Still no news?”

“Nope, but that’s why we’re going for a stroll -- gotta check the bait lines.”

“A fishing metaphor,” Bucky muttered, following Quill through the galley. Mantis looked up from taking an inventory of their perishable food and smiled. Groot was cleaning the ceiling. Drax’s rear end was sticking out of the pantry. Bucky waited until he and Quill were out on the catwalk to remark, “That’s a first.”

“What’s that?”

“The fishing metaphor,” Bucky reminded him and then wondered if he really hadn’t spoken that first thought aloud.

“Oh, yeah. Not that I’ve got much experience.” He squinted. “I think I remember my grandpa taking me out on a boat one time.”

Quill turned onto a side street and then cut across an intersection toward a lane that ran behind the main drag.

“It was peaceful,” he continued. “A good place to think about things.”

Suddenly suspicious of where this little jaunt was going, Bucky demanded, “Like what?”

“Whether that day’s round of chemo was gonna be the one to do the trick for my mom.” Bucky could only imagine the look on his own face because Quill seemed to feel compelled to add, “Spoiler alert: the brain tumor said no.” Quill opened the door to a shop, saying, “But that’s how it was then. Cancer was the big bad that almost nobody could beat. I hear times have changed.”

And just as those words reached Bucky’s ears, he registered the fact that he was standing smack dab in the middle of a sex toy shop. With Peter Quill of all people.

“I really don’t wanna know about your ‘errand’ here.”

“It’s not for me.”

“Isn’t that what they all say?”

Quill flashed him a quick grin. “We’re doing this for Rocket.”

And that was probably the one and only thing Quill could have said to keep Bucky from marching right back out onto the street. “What are you talking about?”

“I am talking about the fact that he’s really worried about you.”

“Can we talk about this somewhere else?”

Quill’s lips curved into a rueful smile. _“Will_ you talk about this somewhere else?”

Bucky crossed his arms. “I’m not talking in this place.”

Quill plucked up a package from the shelf. A dildo that claimed to be the pride and joy of Zylorians throughout the galaxy. He showed it to Bucky with panache. “This about the right size?”

Bucky grimaced. “For what?”

Bobbling his head in a _C’mon-you-know_ _…_ gesture, Quill hissed, “Rocket.”

“What about Rocket?” Really, Bucky didn’t know why he was bothering. He really -- honestly -- didn’t want to know where Quill’s head was right now.

“Rocket’s junk, dude. C’mon, I’m curious. Who wouldn’t be, knowing you two have a thing going and--hey, what’s so funny?”

There were tears, actual tears, leaking out of Bucky’s eyes. “Lemme guess, you were curious about Drax’s, too.”

“For sure.” Quill shrugged. “But, hey, I just came out and asked. FYI, apparently his people have no qualms about show and tell. Like, _zero.”_

Bucky was almost positive that this was all just a ploy. “Cut the bullshit,” he told Quill, and to his shock and amazement, that was precisely what Quill did.

“OK. It’s like this. Rocket told me what that wad of space trash said. And, I thought, y’know, this--” He gestured so grandly that Bucky half expected him to belt out an _abracadabra!_ “--this might be something in need of a paradigm shift because… take a look around.”

Bucky declined, but Quill just grabbed another item to wave in front of Bucky’s face and continued, “All this stuff -- like, half of it’s for men. That’s right: we are in the ‘annals of anal.’ In fact, I can hear a dude in the next aisle trying not to get too excited over the Kree strap-ons. But, my point is--”

Bucky prayed that this was Quill’s final approach to a merciful conclusion (and a clean getaway for Bucky).

“--that there are plenty of men in the galaxy who enjoy this. And miracle of miracles, they are still men the morning after. An archaeology expedition in the bedroom doesn’t mean they revoke your Man Card.”

Bucky mused, “You really think that was what I had a problem with?”

“Well, I was hoping, yeah,” Quill said, plopping the box in his hand back on the shelf. The product on the other side of the clear casing jiggled in a way that was neither natural nor something that Bucky wanted to remember for the rest of his life.

“Because this is your area of expertise?”

“This particular area?” Quill nodded to the aisle they were in and Bucky was quick to hold up a hand.

“No, that is not what I meant.” And he did not want specifics on Quill’s sordid love affairs or racy one-night stands.

Quill grinned, thoroughly enjoying Bucky’s discomfort. “I can’t deny sex is what I know -- growing up on a Ravager ship I saw ALL KINDS, like--”

“Stop talking.”

Quill cleared his throat. “This isn’t the _only_ thing I know, but it’s in the top ten -- and if sex isn’t the issue, then I’ve got nothing. And I really don’t want to see the look on Rocket’s face when I report back with a mission: failed.”

Bucky’s jaw clenched.

Brows shooting up, Quill murmured, “Oh-ho. That was a direct hit.”

Bucky looked away and then had to close his eyes when he realized he was glaring right at a bright green butt plug. Without a word, he turned on his heel and exited the shop. Quill rushed after him and into the street, skidding to a stop right in Bucky’s path without daring to manhandle him.

“I’m going to that cafe,” Bucky informed him with a nod to a small establishment on the nearest corner. “You finish up whatever errand you need to take care of in there.” Bucky was not going speak the name of the shop -- _Butt Fun Forever_ \-- in public. He was already going to Hell, but Bucky was not going to listen to himself saying _that_ at his Judgment.

Quill slapped him on the shoulder. “Eh, forget that stuff. It’s all last year’s models anyway. C’mon. I’m buying the java.”

Bucky scrubbed his right hand over his face. “I hate you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “These Boots Are Made For Walkin’” is the title of a song originally released in 1966 and performed by Nancy Sinatra. Just FYI.
> 
> “It takes a licking but keeps on ticking” was the advertising campaign slogan for Timex watches first used in the 1950s, which is a little after Bucky’s time, but let’s pretend the saying was something Bucky picked up when he was a kid in Brooklyn.
> 
> sleeping bag in Bucharest -- I noticed that there’s a sleeping bag laid out and turned down on Bucky’s bed in his apartment and I thought, y’know, maybe there was a “reason.” I mean, it’s not like a little zipper is going to stop that bionic arm, but it might give Bucky an extra half second to “wake up” a bit more. But maybe I’m totally wrong and he just wanted to be able to pack up in a hurry.
> 
> Quill’s formative years with the Ravagers -- I am NOT implying that any sexual abuse happened to Quill. I just think he’s really open-minded about sex because, among a hodgepodge group like Yondu’s crew, what’s “normal” anyway?
> 
> “I hate you” is a fun reminder of the hilarious Sam Wilson versus Bucky Barnes moments in Captain America: Civil War.


	6. Chapter 6

Bucky ordered the most revolting-sounding thing on the menu because if Quill was going to hold him hostage here until Bucky talked, then he didn’t want to ruin a decent cup of joe with less than appetizing associations, not today and definitely not for the remainder of his lifetime.

But there wasn’t much he could do about Quill’s choice of drink, so he was surprised and relieved and resigned (in that order) when Quill merely told the staff to “Make that two.”

Bucky figured this was proof: he wasn’t the only one bracing himself for the imminent conversation.

They sat down at a table that had a view of the front door (which Quill covered) and the exit (which was Bucky’s department) and there was no one at neighboring tables. They weren’t locked in a whispering gallery, either. So long as neither of them started shouting or shooting, what was said would be harmlessly absorbed by the walls and floor.

Bucky couldn’t say the same for the _Milano._

Quill bounced his knee and Bucky drummed the fingers of his left hand on the age-discolored tabletop until their orders arrived.

To the attractive waitress, Quill murmured confidentially, “My cousin and I are going to be talking about an unpleasant medical procedure, so maybe give us a little buffer?”

She nodded slowly, eyeing Bucky’s bionic arm and looking like she couldn’t wait to restock the cafe’s walk-in freezer.

Bucky mashed his lips together to keep from smiling because, damn it, Quill was on target with that excuse (and so was the waitress with her reaction). But on second thought, it wasn’t all that funny, actually.

Bucky obstinately stared toward the exit as Quill took a hesitant and almost hostile sip of the concoction in his cup. Making a face, he set it back down and dived back in to their paused discussion: “So what precisely got you all bent out of shape last night?”

“Didn’t Rocket repeat it word-for-word?”

“Probably. I mean, I don’t think there were quite that many Xandarian swear words mixed in, but… OK, y’know what--it’s cool. You can tell me when I start getting warm.” Bracing his elbows on the table, Quill cleared his throat. “The part where that crapsack and his buddies dared to imply that you and Rocket are anything less than adorable together.”

“That wasn’t how he’d phrased it.” Upon hearing that, Quill didn’t look surprised, so Bucky figured Rocket had repeated that part verbatim. Bucky admitted with a shrug, “I’d have let that go in exchange for an insincere apology.”

“OK. Next up: the insult to your manhood.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Rocket defended my honor.”

Quill chuckled. “You might want to think about getting that inked somewhere. Even hearing it after the fact, that was pretty epic.”

It had been.

“Last but not least--”

“Last,” Bucky agreed. “But definitely not least.”

Quill forced another sip of frappi-something past his lips. “You get that’s why we made a stop at BFF first, right? If the butt stuff is a sore point -- ah, sorry. Really bad choice of words--”

Bucky lifted a hand. “Shut up.”

Quill shut up. Sipped his shit drink. Bounced his knee under the table.

Bucky tried to keep the question back, tried to stuff it down deep into the pile of things meant for the metaphorical garbage disposal, but it eked out like slime: “Do all you guys really think I’d do that to Rocket?”

Quill froze.

He looked guilty and Bucky felt himself get angry. “Do you really think Rocket would let anyone do something like that to him?”

“‘Something like that,’” Quill quoted and Bucky wasn’t imagining it: the walls were closing in. He glared down at the untouched mug between his hands. “If we’re not talking about sex, then what are we talking about?”

Bucky flattened his palms against the table because God help anyone who got too close to his fists. He told the swirled foam in the coffee cup, “How about being tied down, stripped bare, and force fed Hydra bullshit? Over and over again. How about the fact that I just let them do it; I knew it was coming and I just--I just took it.” Through gritted teeth and past a trembling lower lip, he grated out, “Yeah, I’d lose it. I’d snap and lash out. Hurt somebody. But deliberate resistance? No. I can’t remember fighting back -- if I’d ever even tried.”

“You fought back,” Quill stated, drawing Bucky’s glare.

“No. I didn’t escape. Steve -- pulled -- me -- out. The only thing I ever did -- the only way I crossed them -- was by not going back. Because I’d just done the unthinkable: I’d failed my mission.” Bucky felt the left side of his face twitch, felt the burn of self-loathing climb up from his belly, felt the way his throat locked down and molars ground together until his forehead felt like it was about to burst open.

“God damn those Hydra bastards,” Quill said and the words came out as a literal curse, a damnation. Quill reached his hand across the table toward Bucky’s, fist open.

“What are doing?”

“Take my damn hand, Bucky.”

He shook his head. “I don’t--”

“I do. I need this.” Quill managed to wait a heartbeat before his pleading expression turned impatient. “C’mon, man.”

Reluctantly, Bucky slid his right hand over until Quill clamped onto it in a climber’s grasp. Unbreakable. And-- _this_ ** _ **.**_** This was all Bucky had needed from Steve. And it was precisely what he hadn’t gotten at that crucial moment, suspended above the abyss.

Quill said, “I don’t know if you’ve got family back on Earth, but you’ve sure as hell got family here.” Quill’s grip tightened. “You push us back if we get too close -- that’s your right -- but none of us are letting go. OK?”

“OK.” He tugged at Quill’s grasp, and Quill released him. Bucky took a minute to breathe, to wait for the stinging moisture to soak back up into his eyeballs.

“By the way,” Quill said in a tone that set off warning bells in Bucky’s ears, “Gamora and Mantis weren’t the only ones who put together a gift basket for you two. You just didn’t know about mine.”

Bucky’s fingers twitched. “What did you do?”

“Only my job: wingman extraordinaire.” Quill grinned. “I gave Rocket a digital copy of ‘A Gay Man’s Guide to the Ins and Outs.’”

“You didn’t.”

“Oh, I did. And you can thank me for that at any time.”

“Why the hell would I thank--?”

“I’m sorry, would you have rather been the one to give your own lover the Sex Talk?” Quill quizzed, incredulous.

Bucky paused. Thought about it. And then decided he didn’t want to think about it. “When you put it that way…”

Quill waved a hand, clearing the air. “Look, I couldn’t care less if Rocket uses all, some, or none of that advice when you guys are steaming up the porthole--” He paused and gave Bucky a look. “And yes, there is a sensor that monitors air temperature and humidity levels in all of the cabins. You guys -- so not as sneaky as you think you are.”

Bucky winced.

“--but the goal of my ‘gift basket’ was to make sure Rocket understood where you’re coming from. The human perspective. Not that he seemed all that enthusiastic about the chapter on successfully parking the Boinker Blimp at the Prostate Center.”

Bucky leaned back in his chair. “Tell me that’s not the actual chapter title.”

“It is!”

“Son of a bitch.” Bucky shook his head in honest-to-God disbelief, but then he smirked. “Rocket said it was unhygienic, didn’t he?”

Quill sputtered, eyes widening with almost comical timing. “How do you--you weren’t even there, dude.”

“I know Rocket.”

Sobering, Quill nodded. “Yeah, you really do. And here’s the thing: he really wants to understand what’s going on with you.” Pointing, he said, “Up there. In your head.”

Bucky twirled the still-full cup on its saucer. Now that the foam had dissolved, he could see that the liquid itself was a sweet, pink-purple color and that right there convinced him that this wasn’t coffee. On no conceivable world anywhere in the universe was an intended-for-consumption, caffeinated beverage any shade of pink.

Grimacing away from the poison in the mug, Bucky muttered, “I’m trying _not_ to hurt him.”

“How. Explain this to me, please. Pretend I was born yesterday if you have to.”

“What Hydra did…” Bucky began and then promptly hit an impassable roadblock.

“Yeah. Pretty sure Rocket would understand a lot of that.”

“Exactly. He’s got his own dark places. Dealing with mine might just kick open the door to his.”

“Fair point. But _not_ including him -- that just plain leaves him in the dark.” Quill’s brows arched. “If the shoe were on the other foot, what would you want Rocket to do?”

The breath shot out of Bucky’s chest. Imagining Rocket hurting like Bucky was hurting -- God that was agony. But on the other hand, Bucky wasn’t sure that he was strong enough to deal with Rocket’s darkness on top of his own. It felt like he was one straw away from breaking.

“Hey. Take a deep breath. Breathe, Bucky,” Quill coached, low and urgent.

Bucky inhaled so fast his head spun.

“It’s OK if you can’t talk to Rocket about this. You know why? Because I can. If you give me the green light to pass it on.”

“He can’t--he can’t try to fix this. He needs to know I can’t--it’s too much…”

“Hey, at this point, he just wants to _know._ The action plan…” Quill shrugged. “We’ll figure that out when you’re ready. All of us. Together. Or, as many of us as you can stand.” Holding up a hand, Quill warned him, “Just a word of caution: this station could be your last chance for long while to pick up something naughty for a good time.”

“Jesus, Quill.”

“The prices are reasonable.”

“I really hate you.”

“What if Rocket changes his mind about, y’know, using the ‘backdoor?’” He both air-quoted and eye-brow wiggled.

“I _will_ punch you.”

Quill surrendered. “And that concludes my wingman duties. Whatever regret you experience for your actions or lack thereof at some unspecified future time is not my responsibility.”

“Duly noted.” Bucky’s lips quirked. Sending a pointed look at Quill’s wristwatch, he mused, “Now are you going to answer the call you’ve been ignoring for the last five minutes?”

“Don’t worry -- it’s not urgent. There’s a separate channel for emergencies.” As he pushed his coat sleeve back, Quill nodded to Bucky’s watch. “If you aren’t keyed in yet, you should have Rocket take care of that. Hey, Gamora. What’s shakin’?”

“We have two passengers looking for a ride to Ohlpho.”

“Copy that!” He braced himself to stand up but paused long enough to send a pointed glance at Bucky’s cup. “I’d ask if you’re finished, but you never even got started.”

“That was intentional.”

“You’re missing out on a memorable flavor.”

“I’d rather save room for good memories.”

“Then let’s blow this pop stand.”

Quill chose the most direct route back to the _Milano,_ confirming Bucky’s suspicions that Quill had fed him a line about running errands. All so he could get Bucky to walk into a place that had shocked him back to reality.

_Pretty clever._

After all, Quill had gotten answers. How much of that had been wily skill versus dumb luck, Bucky couldn’t say, but he suspected he’d underestimated Quill at some point.

There were two unknown figures loitering on the catwalk beside the _Milano._ Drax, Gamora, and Mantis were outside as well, holding a defensive position on the gang plank. With a glance, Bucky could tell that things were still friendly. But given that these strangers were traveling light and could more than likely hold their own in a fight, Bucky didn’t relax his guard.

Gamora nodded Quill over and he stopped on the catwalk, blocking one retreat and leaving only the walkway that led deeper into the docking bay open.

“Greetings! We’re the Guardians of the Galaxy. I’m Peter Quill, but everyone calls me Star-Lord.” He offered his hand. “What can we do for you?”

Both men had turned at his swaggering approach, and Bucky found himself staring at the younger of the two. Bucky had met him before; this was the man who’d offered him his handkerchief the other night. He accepted Quill’s handshake.

“Greetings,” the man replied, his smile moving from Quill to Bucky (who he clearly recognized) and back to Quill again. “I am Daniel Drumm and this is Master Hamir.” He gestured to the older man at his side who looked every bit the part of an Asian scholar: neatly trimmed goatee, wire-rimmed spectacles, and long robes. Hamir inclined his head. Drumm continued, “And I believe it is you who has been making inquiries.”

“You heard the rumors, huh?” Quill replied lightly, hands on his hips and quad blasters within reach.

“Yes,” he said simply and then angled his head toward the ship. “Would it be possible to meet your entire crew?”

Quill rocked back on his heels. “Don’t see why not.”

Bucky did -- Rocket was at the controls, ready to lock the ship down or hit the engines depending on how this meeting played out. But a refusal would be tantamount to throwing down the gauntlet.

Lifting his wristwatch to his mouth, Quill pressed a button and said, “Rocket, Groot. C’mon out and meet some folks.”

Groot ducked out of the hatch first and Bucky figured he’d been standing by at the control panel. Rocket emerged a moment later. The fact that neither Drumm nor Hamir seemed particularly surprised at the sight of them prompted Bucky to say to Drumm, “You’ve been keeping tabs on us.”

“We asked around,” Drumm admitted, and Hamir stepped forward to offer his hand to Quill. They shook in silence. Then, interestingly, despite the fact that Bucky could easily be mistaken for Quill’s right hand man in this situation, Hamir next offered his hand to Gamora. Then Rocket, Groot, Drax, Mantis, and finally, Bucky.

As the man’s smooth hand clasped Bucky’s, Bucky felt like he was being studied. Weighed. He stiffened and Hamir withdrew.

Hamir gave Drumm a single nod of approval, and Drumm said, “We were told to come here and express interest in acquiring a gravitational field mapping device. The Ancient One, our teacher, foresaw that help would arrive.”

“What exactly do you need help with?” Gamora asked.

“One of our fellow masters has been abducted. We believe he is somewhere in outer space.”

Quill’s lips stretched flat. “That’s a lot of area to cover.”

Drumm glanced Gamora’s way and told Quill, “Yes, that was why we asked Gamora if you’ve come across anything out of the ordinary in your recent travels. Such as a planetary body that seems to have disappeared?”

“So, Ohlpho,” Quill said to Gamora who confirmed, “Yes, Ohlpho.”

To Drumm, Quill admitted: “Yeah, we detected a missing moon out that way. What’s that got to do with your missing friend?”

“Our missing friend has a talent for manipulating matter. Very large amounts of matter. It is, you might say, his signature skill.”

“Uh-huh. And you think somebody’s got him -- is making him use that skill -- in order to do what?”

“Wreck havoc. What else?” Drumm smiled wryly.

Rocket crossed his arms. “Sounds right up our alley,” he grumbled quietly.

“Where’d you guys say you’re from?” Quill asked, brows beetled as though he was searching his short term memory.

“We didn’t say,” Drumm pointed out. “We are from Earth. Master Hamir and myself are sorcerers, masters of the Mystic Arts.”

Hamir shook back the sleeves of his robe, revealing a missing left hand, and with a slow sweep of his arms, generated a fiery orange image -- a globe of the Earth -- in mid air. As it spun, Bucky recognized the continents: Europe and Africa, North America and South America, Australia and Asia. A tiny disk of spinning yellow sparks provided a pinpoint near the Himalayas.

Drumm bowed his head in deference. “Our place of study: Kamar-Taj.”

“Very pretty,” Mantis observed somberly.

“Oh-kay,” Quill said, processing. He glanced around. “Anybody have questions for Master Hamir or Master Drumm?”

Rocket grunted out a cough that was not subtle at all. “Payment.”

Drumm tucked his chin down. “Forgive me. Of course that is a concern. We do not have many, ah, units -- I believe that is what is commonly used out here?” At Quill’s confirming nod, he continued, “But we can offer gold if that would suffice. A bar of gold bullion upon the safe retrieval of our fellow master.”

“And how do you propose we capture a man who can manipulate matter?” Gamora challenged.

“That task is my and Master Hamir’s collective responsibility. What we require is transportation and the services of a tracker. Do you have a device that can sense gravitational fields in detail?”

“Rocket?” Quill prompted.

Rocket harrumphed. “You don’t even know what you’re asking for.” 

“I know the ship’s got a sensor for--”

“Basic navigational function only.”

“Well--” Quill gestured expansively. “--can you boost it somehow?”

“Can I boost it,” Rocket sneered, crossing his arms. “Stupid question. Of course I can boost the frickin’ sensor. Gonna have to make a stop at a scrap yard first.”

Quill checked, “A gold bar gonna cover the cost of materials?”

“Give it to me in units.”

Quill did.

Rocket’s brows hitched minutely before he could damper his reaction. “Yeah. That should do it.”

Quill gestured Hamir and Drumm toward the ship. “Welcome aboard the _Milano!_ The Guardians of the Galaxy are at your service. We take off as soon as you’re ready to go.”

“We are ready now,” Drumm assured him.

Quill finally thought to check with Rocket and Gamora: “Ship squared away?”

Gamora smiled tightly. “Of course.”

“Just waitin’ on you,” Rocket drawled.

“Excellent! Drax, you and Mantis get that last cabin ready for our passengers.” To the masters, Quill apologized, “It’ll be on the snug side.”

“If fortune favors us, we will not impose upon your hospitality for long.”

As everyone stomped and tromped aboard, Bucky hung back, bringing up the rear. Rocket loitered by the hatch, watching Bucky cross the gang plank with slow steps and then stop an arm’s length away.

Rocket shifted an inch closer before he drew himself up and quietly asked, “You back?”

Bucky tried to squash the tingle of shame. “Yeah. Quill and I talked.”

Rocket nodded. “I asked him to. Humie to humie.”

And Bucky could see how difficult a request that had been to make; Rocket craved control like a soldier craved letters from home. But Bucky had been borderline catatonic after that nightmare, and he’d already threatened to walk away if Rocket pushed too hard.

Bucky knelt down on the gang plank. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, just…” Rocket reached for him, paws rubbing through his beard and up to his temples. “Just be mine.”

Claws slid softly through Bucky’s hair, running over his scalp, until two small hands cupped the back of his skull. He let Rocket press their brows together.

Bucky reveled in the affirmation. It wasn’t much in the grand scheme of things, and this wasn’t the time for a serious discussion, but it gave him strength. Because that was what Rocket unfailingly gave Bucky over and over again.

Bucky suddenly recalled the nightmare and -- _oh, God_ \-- he was terrified of that strength being taken away.

He exhaled, focusing on the warmth of his lover, but the fear lingered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “a cup of joe” -- it looks like this idiom has been floating around in the U.S. military since about 1914. Who knew?
> 
> “pink-purple coffee” -- my local Starbucks offers a seasonal cappuccino/frappuccino drink that is cherry blossom flavor and totally pink. I’m sorry -- I’m with Bucky on this: that’s not coffee, I don’t care how much actual caffeine is in it. IT DOES NOT COUNT AS COFFEE.
> 
> Quill’s wingman duties -- I’m drawing from Guy Code: If your buddy is sober enough to stand up, look you in the eye, and tell you to fuck off, then you are absolved of any responsibility in the fallout from his oncoming bad life choice. (Or something like that.)
> 
> I read that something like four years pass on Earth between the first Guardians of the Galaxy movie and Infinity War, so the appearance of Daniel Drumm (from Doctor Strange) is meant to show that this fic takes place before (or shortly after) Stephen Strange starts learning the Mystic Arts (and before Drumm becomes the guardian of the New York sanctum). I’m assuming that Stephen Strange spends 1~2 years searching for a conventional cure for his hands, and then the events that take place in Kamar-Taj (in the first Doctor Strange movie) are meant to span 1~2 years because there’s no explanation for why Strange learns Sanskrit and the Mystic Arts so quickly other than hard work, study, and practice. He’s brilliant, but he’s not a savant, so there’s a significant span of time in there for Drumm to go on a mission in outer space, then get chosen to guard the New York Sanctum after that mission is completed.
> 
> The Mystic Arts (specifically Eldritch Magic) are also practiced by the Lem (as demonstrated by the sorcerer/Ravager Krugarr at the end of Guardians of the Galaxy, Vol 2).
> 
> The masters of the Mystic Arts can use a Sling Ring to transport themselves between places regardless of distance, but in order to do that, they have to know where they’re going. Daniel and Hamir transported themselves to this space station (maybe another master had been here before and showed them the way), but they don’t know enough about the galaxy to get around by themselves. Therefore, they need the Guardians to give them a ride.
> 
> A bar of gold bullion weighs 1 kilogram and (as of June 2020) the value was about 56,000 USD. I’m not sure what that comes out to be in units, but let’s say it’s a decent amount. (I’m operating under the assumption that gold is both rare and useful in the intergalactic community. For sure, gold has lots of very important applications in the design of space ships and so on.)
> 
> We’re not quite done analyzing Bucky’s nightmare, FYI.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: sexytimes (of the “sex band-aid” variety, that is “sex that does not actually fix the larger problem -- it just sort of covers it up for the time being”)

“You paid Rouker?” Bucky checked as he and Groot flanked Rocket, weaving through the maze of space junk. Everyone else was hanging back at the ship because Rocket had assured them that junkyards were nothing special and the Krylorian who ran this one was severely anti-social.

But that was a load of hokum. Bucky knew that Rocket just wanted the breathing room to do things his way. So Bucky had armed himself heavily because doing things Rocket’s way usually ended in a brawl.

“The pulse relay Groot picked up for you here a while back,” Bucky reminded Rocket. “That’s bought and paid for?”

Rocket mumbled something indistinct, and Bucky pressed, “Sorry, I didn’t catch that. I’m not fluent in guilty grunting.”

Rocket rolled his eyes, gesticulating on a huff. “Yes, yes, I paid the egomaniac, alright?”

“How much?”

“Fourteen hundred fifty units.”

Bucky recalled: “He was asking eighteen.”

“He was delusional. Factory-sealed pulse relays with a 10,000 hyper-jump guarantee retail for eighteen hundred.”

“I am Groot!”

Bucky’s brows arched at Groot’s accusatory tone.

Rocket shrugged. “OK, so I may have given myself a small repeat-customer discount.”

_Sonuvabitch,_ Bucky swore silently, sliding his left hand along his belt and gripping the handle of the knife sheathed there.

Rocket insisted, “Rouker ain’t gonna mind.”

He minded.

He shouted and screamed and waved several sharp-looking tools around, even lobbed a tangled ball of old wiring at Rocket’s face.

Dodging the projectile, Rocket shouted back, “YOUR PRICES ARE RIDICULOUS, YA D’AST KRYLORIAN!”

“THEN GO ELSEWHERE!”

“SURE AND THEN I’LL PUT THE WORD OUT! WHATCHU GONNA DO WHEN ALL YOUR CUSTOMERS FIND SOMEWHERE ELSE TO DROP THEIR UNITS, HUH?”

Rouker didn’t have an answer to that. Or maybe the answer was simply obvious. And, apparently, more distasteful than negotiating price. Redder in the face than ever, Rouker spat out a number for the parts Rocket needed.

Rocket demanded a ten percent reduction.

They settled on three.

Bucky watched Rocket transfer the units via a small device he carried on his belt. Rouker escorted them to the bins that contained salvaged components. He watched with arms crossed over his chest as Rocket picked through the offerings and made his selections. He passed them to Groot and, with a wide smile, told Rouker, “‘Til next time, ya mad junker.”

“I hope your ship blows up.”

As they wound and wended their way back to the dock (avoiding the muffled ruckus of other customers in the maze), Bucky remarked, “Tough love, huh?”

“Hah! Only the best kind.”

“Wouldn’t it have been easier to just pay his asking price?”

“Oh, sure. I act like I got units popping outta my ears,” Rocket drawled derisively, “and the next thing you know Rouker’s learned that I’m a frickin’ pushover!”

Bucky’s jaw clenched. He recalled the feel of a mouth guard being shoved between his teeth, recalled willingly opening wide for it.

“And that’s the kinda thing that sticks with ya. FOREVER.”

Sticks and stones and the crackle of electric pulses. A chill swept down Bucky’s spine, leaving numbness in its wake.

“That’s not gonna be me,” Rocket declared, puffing up his chest. “No how, no way. Rouker can find some other pathetic loser to walk on.”

_Walk all over,_ Bucky didn’t correct because, at that precise moment, all he wanted was as much distance as possible between himself and the very idea.

“I am Groot?”

Bucky glanced over, unsettled at finding himself the recipient of Groot’s concerned frown. Rocket slowed his marching steps, turned, and whatever he saw on Bucky’s face shocked the strut out of him. He placed a paw on Bucky’s thigh and even though Bucky could see “home” -- the _Milano_ \-- just a dozen paces away, he felt a drumbeat of dread thunder in his belly.

“Hey. What is it?” Rocket asked quietly. He looked worried -- he looked like he genuinely cared and _God_ how Bucky wanted to trust that. But he couldn’t. Bucky had no reason to believe that whatever respect Rocket had for him wouldn’t or couldn’t twist into disgust.

Bucky didn’t dare take a step back, so he sidestepped Rocket’s hand. “We’ve got a guy somewhere in outer space who can use some kind of ‘Mystic Art’ to blow up moons and you’re dickering over three percent.”

Rocket’s brows shot up, his ears flattened and shoulders tensed. “Did I not just explain why that’s important?”

“Sure,” Bucky agreed flatly and headed for the ship.

“It’s not about the three percent today! It’s about getting respect tomorrow!”

“I heard you.”

“Then what is your problem?” Rocket yelled at his back. He sounded befuddled and angry.

Bucky started punching in the hatch code. “It just feels like… we’re running out of time.”

He didn’t look to see what Rocket’s reaction was to that, if he felt the crushing weight of those words the same way that Bucky did. God--damn--it, just the other day, he’d been on cloud nine. Happy -- honestly happy -- and in love and ready to take on the galaxy.

God _damn_ Hydra. Just... God damn them all.

Bucky stomped through the galley, past Mantis and Drax and the two passengers that they were supposed to be keeping an eye on (but were actually sharing humorous anecdotes with), and then pulled himself up into the cockpit.

“You guys get what you needed?” Quill asked without looking up from the console.

“Rocket’s all set,” Bucky replied, moving to buckle himself in behind the copilot’s seat, ready to navigate if (for whatever reason) Gamora couldn’t.

Rocket paused at the top of the cockpit ladder, staring hard at Bucky and ignoring Quill’s prompting (“Well? We good to get outta here or what?”) as he watched Bucky activate the backup monitor, putting it on standby.

“Rocket!” Quill shouted and that got _Gamora’s_ attention. She looked up and then between Rocket and Bucky, reading the tension.

“WHAT!? YES,” Rocket bellowed back, “LET’S GO ALREADY.”

“Sheesh. Don’t bite my head off.”

Rocket threw himself into the copilot’s chair and started wrestling with the harness, swearing under his breath.

Gamora asked, “Ohlpho next?”

“No,” Rocket muttered. “Gotta get the upgrades done. Gonna need a quiet place to dock.”

“You got it.” Quill activated the _Milano’s_ comms and announced to Groot and the others in the galley: “Buckle up, folks. One more stop before we head back to Ohlpho and that missing moon.”

A moment (and faint sounds of buckles clicking and straps tightening) later, Mantis shouted, “We are ready!”

Gamora submitted the flight plan to the computer with the push of a button. Quill disengaged the docking clamp. Rocket’s tail poked past the edge of his seat, ticking back and forth.

“Fifty-two clicks and fifteen jumps,” Quill informed everyone and set course for the first jump point.

As they passed the first click, the silence pressed in on Bucky’s skin, snaked into his ears, and made his skull ache.

Quill felt it, too: “Let’s put on some music.” He queued up the ship’s stored tunes and Bucky wished for this day to end.

The fifty-odd clicks stretched out like saltwater taffy. Endless and sticky.

The fifteen jumps thumped through Bucky’s atoms like an off-beat bass drum, disrupting thoughts and tipping balance.

The remaining stretch of smooth sailing toward the refueling station that Gamora had found between the junkyard and Ohlpho drew Bucky’s nerves taut. A rubber band on the verge of snapping.

The jolt of the ship docking was like breaking the surface. Treading water in a calm sea, a cloudless, windless sky overhead. The doldrums.

Rocket took over powering down the engines and Gamora hesitated beside Bucky’s chair. She gave him an expectant look to which he shook his head. Quill caught the motion out of the corner of his eye and asked Rocket, “What do you need to get the upgrades done?”

“Just Bucky.”

_Well, shit._

“Copy that.” Quill nodded for Gamora to follow him down into the galley.

Bucky unhooked his harness but didn’t move from his seat. He didn’t take the opportunity to run his fingers through Rocket’s fur or tease his ears or even squeeze his shoulders. Bucky sat and waited for instructions.

And that just made him even angrier.

Rocket opened the compartment where he’d stowed his recent acquisitions and then removed the small tool case beneath. “That section,” he told Bucky quietly, pointing to an access plate on the floor, under the navigator’s station.

Bucky held out a hand and Rocket passed him the case. He pried it open and Rocket selected a screw-driver-like tool before he got started on jimmying the panel free.

They worked in self-isolating silence until Rocket asked Bucky to lift out an unremarkable-looking (but hefty) device and hold it aloft while Rocket systematically disconnected several wires anchoring it to whatever was directly underneath.

“OK, put that over there,” Rocket micromanaged once it was free.

Bucky set it down carefully. When he turned back around, Rocket’s tail was sticking straight up in the air as he contorted into the space, installing the first of the new parts. He grunted and swore and Bucky reached over and grabbed the back of Rocket’s coveralls with his left hand, offering enough counterweight to take some of the strain off of Rocket’s arms and back.

Rocket paused. “Thanks.”

“Sure.”

A couple of minutes later, Rocket said, “OK, let’s put it back together,” and Bucky murmured before he could stop himself, “All the king’s horses.”

“What’s that?” Rocket asked, arms buried in the ship and his chin almost resting on the floor as he reattached the wires.

“It’s nothing.”

“It’s something.” When Bucky only replied with silence, Rocket leaned back and looked up and damn it -- why did Bucky have to have a soft spot for brown eyes? Rocket said, “Tell me the rest.”

“Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall. Humpty Dumpty had a great fall. All the king’s horses and all the king’s men couldn’t put Humpty back together again.”

And although Bucky had whispered, the words echoed with finality.

At length, Rocket said, “I sure hope that doesn’t mean you’ve lost faith in my abilities.”

“No,” Bucky replied. “There are just some things that nobody can fix.”

“I can try,” Rocket insisted stubbornly, wringing a tiny smile out of Bucky and squeezing his heart in silence.

They finished reassembling the guts of the ship, and then Rocket gestured for Bucky to help him at the main console. Rocket flicked a few switches and the whole thing popped loose. He levered it up like he was opening the hood of a car.

“Hold this up?”

Bucky obliged and watched Rocket replace one old component with a new one, and then wedge another into a space that appeared too small to accommodate it. But with a bit of finagling and resorting of wires, it tucked into place.

Rocket sat back and, together, he and Bucky guided the pilot’s console back down. It locked in with a click but Rocket didn’t move toward the ladder to report in. Instead, he rebooted the system and started up a diagnostic scan. Processing lights swirled on the monitor, ceaseless and hypnotic.

“You mad at me for taking time at the junkyard?”

The question was so softly asked that it shocked Bucky into looking Rocket in the eye, and Bucky couldn’t lie. “No.”

Shoulders drooping, Rocket raised both hands in a silent plea. “So what’s going on with you?”

“I can’t tell you.”

Rocket accused, “You could tell Quill.”

“Yeah. And I’m done talking about it. I’m fine.”

“That’s bullshit.”

Bucky insisted, “It’s better if we both just forget it.”

“Forget--it,” Rocket parroted. _“Forget_ it? No, forget _that!_ You’re not seriously gonna make me ask Quill what’s bothering my mate?”

Answering Rocket’s incredulity with his own, Bucky hissed, “Then why did you sic him on me in the first place?”

“As a frickin’ practice run for _this_ conversation. The one where you tell me what’s wrong. I don’t care if you rehearsed it backwards and forwards with that jackass, I just wanna hear it from you!”

“Well that’s not going to happen.”

Rocket’s paws curled into fists. His lips parted in a tight smile and he sucked in a slow breath. But then he exhaled, calmed with a visible effort. His fingers uncurled and he lifted both hands toward Bucky’s face.

Bucky dodged the contact. He swung himself around the obstacle Rocket presented and slid down the ladder. Didn’t stop at mid deck. Ignoring the wide eyes and interrupted conversation, he grabbed the second ladder and plummeted down into the cabin area.

Rocket was right on his heels.

Bucky headed for the first available bolthole: the bathroom. It was occupied and Bucky belatedly realized that he hadn’t seen Gamora in the galley. He reached for the shower room door. Rocket’s paw beat him to it, latching onto the handle and holding it shut.

“Don’t,” Rocket said.

Bucky’s eyes narrowed.

Rocket dropped his hand. “Fine, go ahead. I’ll be right here when you get out.”

Retreat was no longer possible. Bucky was toeing the proverbial ledge with nothing but sheer rock in front of his nose and open air at his back.

He had to push onward.

He did. He headed for his cabin -- their cabin -- and made no effort to shut Rocket out. And when Rocket crossed the threshold, Bucky closed the door. He crouched-then-knelt, crowding Rocket until he climbed back onto the bed, perching precariously on the edge, and then Bucky’s fingers were working on the fastenings of his clothes. He lipped at Rocket’s ears and nosed into his scruff and exhaled against the sharp line of Rocket’s jaw.

Rocket’s paws were in Bucky’s hair, holding on tight, releasing only long enough for fabric to be pulled off and tossed aside.

Claws scraped hard over Bucky’s shoulders, raising welts in his skin and skidding over the prosthetic arm. Rocket panted, eyes half closed as Bucky slicked them both with lotion and then angled his cock against Rocket’s, both of them already hard, aching, desperate. His left hand splayed over Rocket’s lower back, holding him flush against Bucky’s pelvis as he rubbed them against one another -- fast, jerking thrusts -- and it wasn’t pleasure but it was something. Something Bucky could feel past the dread coiling in his guts.

Scratches down his right arm. They burned, bled, but would never scar. His hips rolled faster, harder, and Rocket was swelling up now, fitting beneath Bucky’s cock and above his balls and he started circling his hips against Rocket, drilling them together because wasn’t this what Rocket wanted? A mate who was strong and aggressive. A fighter. A victor. A conqueror of demons.

Bucky could be that. Here and now he was that. And if he could do this once, he could do it again and again and again. Forever, if he had to.

“Bucky!” Rocket hissed, strong hands pressing hard against his chest. “Stop! STOP!”

Teeth gnashed together, Bucky froze, hating himself even as he complied because he was obeying orders again. Again and again and again. On autopilot. Like always.

“What,” Rocket panted, “what is this?”

Bucky didn’t answer. He didn’t know how to answer.

Rocket petted his neck, gently tracing the line of Bucky’s pulse. “Where are you?”

That was the question.

He was hiding, cowering behind a fragile facade.

He was waiting to be left behind.

Bucky leaned away, pivoted, and fell back on the edge of the bed, trousers tangled around his knees and his head in his hands.

“Bright eyes,” Rocket murmured, stroking his paws down Bucky’s shivering back, snuggling up against Bucky’s right arm. “I’ve got you. It’s gonna be OK.”

Bucky wasn’t so sure about that.

“Bucky?” Rocket pressed his forehead to Bucky’s cheek. Nudged his snout against Bucky’s jaw. “Bucky, look at me. Look at me, bright eyes.”

Bucky opened his eyes. He told Rocket on a whisper, “I’m not the person you think I am.”

The shocked lift of Rocket’s brows spiraled into an obstinate moue. “You’re Bucky. You’re a warrior. You’re my mate.”

Bucky shook his head.

“No, no, don’t you dare,” Rocket commanded, clutching at Bucky’s face. “C’mere,” he coaxed, softly now. “C’mere.”

Rocket pulled and Bucky slumped against him, let Rocket fit them together and sobbed in silence at the perfection of it. Rocket’s leg slid between Bucky’s bare thighs and the other hooked around his hip as Bucky braced himself on his left arm. Rocket’s paws on his waist urged a slow, sweet thrusting rhythm. Rocket’s hands then swept up his torso, burning beautiful heat into his chest and nipples.

Rocket inhaled deeply against Bucky’s skin. “Yes -- this is us.” He inhaled again and Bucky realized, _It’s our scents._

That was why Rocket had stopped; Bucky had smelled wrong.

And, Bucky now understood, that it had also felt wrong. But now, _oh God,_ now it felt so right.

Rocket grabbed Bucky’s right hand and tugged it between them. Rocket’s grasp and Bucky’s both filling in the negative spaces in their leisurely and loving movements and _yes oh yes,_ Bucky loved how they felt together. How their arousals fitted and pressed and slid against one another, steaming the air between them.

“Mmm, Bucky.” Rocket’s moan was muffled against Bucky’s chest. _“This_ is you. I _know_ you, want _you.”_

And Bucky came. The release roared through him, fiery and swift. Shoving the air out of his lungs and slamming through his brain. A literal explosion of pure sensation, leaving him gasping harshly, quaking above Rocket who was wrapped around him, nuzzling and whimpering. Coming and coming and coming.

Bucky carefully rolled them on the bed, holding Rocket close as his hips swirled in the slick trapped between them and Bucky’s skin turned shiny with delicate pleasure and he closed his eyes, giving in to it because how could anything this good be in need of fighting?

So he wouldn’t fight. Not against this. For as long as Rocket wanted him, Bucky would be here.

He stroked Rocket’s back, thumbed his ears, and allowed himself to have this. For now -- right now -- this was his. The future was still a landscape of broken promises, but he would face that tomorrow. Or the day after. Or -- if he was very lucky -- never.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “clicks” -- in military terms on Earth, a click is a kilometer (I think) but in space, let’s say it’s more like 1000 kilometers because the Milano moves a lot faster than terrestrial vehicles. I thought it was kind of weird that Gamora used “clicks” in Guardians of the Galaxy, Vol. 2 -- after they leave the Sovereign, the nearest jump point is something like 26 clicks away and, somehow, that’s enough distance for there to be a quantum asteroid field, so clearly a “space click” does not equal a standard kilometer.


	8. Chapter 8

The diagnostic scan was done by the time Bucky and Rocket emerged from the lower deck. Gamora and Quill were arguing over what to prepare for the next meal (Quill said it was too soon for yaro root again and Gamora nixed his proposal to reattempt pizza, a culinary experiment that failed every time).

Drax and Drumm were arm wrestling. Groot was either refereeing or cheering them on (with a fearsome smile like that on his craggy face, it was difficult to tell which). Master Hamir was holding Mantis’ hand in his right as he drew fiery illustrations with his missing left. Her antennae glowed and Bucky suspected they were “conversing” without words somehow.

As Bucky and Rocket approached the kitchen station to get some water, Quill quietly inquired, “All sorted?”

Rocket snorted. “Not even close. But we’ll figure it out,” he vowed, and Bucky knew that, eventually, Rocket would -- out of sheer tenacity -- figure it out. And then there would be hell to pay.

“No time now,” Bucky muttered, thankful for small mercies.

“Speaking of which,” Gamora interrupted, “we should be going.”

Quill concurred. “It’s a bit of a hike to Ohlpho from here. Five hundred and eighty jumps.”

Bucky swallowed back a groan.

Drumm smiled. “We will be fine.”

Hamir nodded.

And Bucky was reluctantly impressed that they managed the first set of forty-nine without leaving a puddle of vomit under their seats. (A fact that Bucky noted once Rocket let him descend from the cockpit.)

Rocket had offered to take first watch, giving Bucky’s thigh a stroke as he’d squeezed between the seats, the last to make his way toward the ladder, as usual, and Bucky had paused to let Rocket nuzzle and burr at his lips, rub his beard the wrong way, and generally raise Bucky’s body temperature five whole degrees.

_Pure torture._

But it wasn’t as if Bucky were playing hard to get.

Maybe he should.

Except that Rocket would just redouble his efforts to drive Bucky crazy.

They had just over an hour before the next series of jumps, so Quill was murdering something in the galley for everyone to choke down. If they were so inclined. Or suicidal. Bucky wished Quill luck (“Please don’t poison us”) and then made his way below deck. With Rocket occupied, this was Bucky’s best chance to put fresh sheets down on the bunk because if Bucky didn’t hurry up and bury the used ones in the bottom of the communal hamper, Rocket would probably “preserve” them.

Bucky drew the line at one set of souvenir sheets. He might defend Rocket’s quirks to Quill, but yeah, Rocket’s fascination with their combined scents could veer toward the excessive. Occasionally.

With that chore completed (and the air filter turned on), Bucky returned to the galley. Drax was in the middle of regaling the Guardians’ first battle against the Sovereign (a tale Bucky had heard more than once) with the odd correction by Gamora and confirmation by Groot to Hamir and Drumm (who looked positively thrilled at the account of an actual space battle).

To avoid causing an interruption, Bucky swung by the food prep area.

“Need a guinea pig?” Bucky offered. Graciously. Because if whatever was bubbling in that pot wasn’t edible, they still had time to distribute packaged protein shakes.

“Knock yourself out.” Quill nodded toward the spoon he’d been using, and went on chopping something that looked like orange-colored garlic.

Taking a deep breath, Bucky dipped, stirred, blew, and sampled.

“Well?”

“Pretty good for wallpaper glue.”

“Spices will help.”

“Yeah, but I’m pretty sure you forgot to stock up on ‘miracles.’”

“Like you could do better.”

“No,” Bucky admitted, “but I do know when to admit defeat.”

“Go away.”

Smirking, Bucky turned toward the table.

“--and that was how we crossed paths with our hideous woman-child Mantis,” Drax said in fond conclusion.

Bucky dropped into the empty seat next to Mantis. “You are not hideous.”

She ducked her head shyly.

Across the table, Drumm was smiling with fascination. “What made you decide to leave home?” he asked her.

“Well, not long after that, I did not have a planet anymore.”

“What happened to it?”

“It blew up,” Gamora said simply, “when we killed Quill’s father. He was evil.”

Never, as long as he lived, would Bucky not appreciate Gamora’s way with words.

“Hold on--just a second--who’s this ‘we?’” Quill wanted to know. _“Who_ killed Ego? Not you -- I seem to recall you and Nebula having it out. Girl fight,” he singsonged.

Gamora rolled her eyes. “Sisters do that. They also save each other’s lives.”

“YEAH, QUILL,” Rocket hollered down from the cockpit. “FOR ONCE YOU WEREN’T AT THE CENTER OF THE UNIVERSE. MOVE ON ALREADY.”

“OH? AND YOU WERE BUSY DOING WHAT?” Quill shouted back.

“HEY, IF ANYONE GETS THE GOLD STAR, IT’S GROOT. HE DIDN’T PUSH THE BUTTON OF DEATH.”

“I--am--Groot!” Groot bragged, and Bucky leaned around Drax to offer him a high-five. So what if he got splinters in his hand. Worth it.

Quill volleyed back: “I WAS THE ONE BEING FIRED ON BY THE SOVEREIGN--”

“HAH! WEAK.”

“--AND KEEPING EGO FROM NOTICING THE BOMB.”

“AND I WAS THE ONE WHO MADE THE FRICKIN’ BOMB.”

Bucky decided this would be a good time to interrupt because he knew how this story went and how Rocket had, er, “acquired” the explosive material for the bomb. So Bucky declared, “AND I FEEL AS THOUGH I WAS RIGHT THERE WITH YOU GUYS.”

Quill blinked and Rocket paused; Bucky had never butted in before. Not right when they were just building momentum for a good, therapeutic row of shouted insults and chest beating. And if there hadn’t been two clients present, Bucky would have let them carry on. Probably.

Lips quirking into a cocky smile, Quill asked rather randomly, “Do you carry tape with you?”

Bucky made a production out of patting himself down. “Nope. Ask Rocket.”

“SEE!?” Quill belted toward the cockpit. “YOU’RE THE ONE WHO’S SUPPOSED TO CARRY THE TAPE.”

Rocket snarled.

Mantis squealed a laugh. “Rocket is the crabbiest puppy! So adorable!”

“I AM NOT A FRICKIN’ PUPPY! AND DON’T CALL ME CRABBY.”

Bucky scrubbed a hand over his face, trying to erase the grin. God, no matter how bleak his own life seemed, he could always count on these crazy jackasses for levity. Of the ludicrous variety.

Gamora cleared her throat and nodded Bucky toward the cockpit ladder.

“What?” he asked.

“That’s your cue.” She nudged his boot with her foot under the table. “Make sure he doesn’t fly us into a quantum asteroid field out of spite.”

“I just sat down.”

“There are seats in the cockpit, too.”

There was no arguing with that logic. Bucky stood. “Am I getting hazard pay for this?”

Drax told him, “You have never given any indication of requiring compensation before.”

“I’m joking, Drax.”

“Of course you are. The two of you fornicate as frequently as marmatoths in mating season.”

Drumm’s eyes widened with dawning realization. Bucky could practically hear the echo of _“I-did-not-just-hear-what-I-think-I-heard-did-I?”_

Hamir’s brows arched over the frames of his spectacles.

Playing it up, Bucky grinned his best hound dog smile. “I’m going to take that as a compliment.”

“So you should. Their endurance is legendary.”

Snickering, Bucky plucked a pair of protein shakes from the pantry and waggled his brows in response to Quill’s evil eye. Then he headed up to see what he could do about getting a laugh out of Rocket.

Rocket’s eyes lit up at his return even though he had to have overheard Gamora’s heckling and Bucky’s token protests. It was ridiculous how easy it was to improve Rocket’s mood; all Bucky had to do was show up. Maybe trail his fingers through Rocket’s fur. He’d never in his life been able to make anyone this happy so effortlessly. And Bucky had no idea what he would do if he ever lost this.

Ten clicks out from the next series of jumps, Rocket shouted for everyone to hold onto their shit. Quill managed to land his butt in the pilot’s seat just in time. Forty-six jumps and then a three hour trip to the next jump point. Bucky could hear Drumm’s voice as he described his hometown of Port-au-Prince to Mantis.

When Bucky and Rocket turned over the cockpit to Quill and Gamora, choosing chairs in the galley to hold down, Drumm commented to Bucky, “You have told Mantis so little of our home world. You are human, are you not?”

“Once upon a time.” In all honesty, Bucky didn’t consider Earth his home. Maybe he hadn’t since his own people -- men Bucky might have passed on the street without a second thought -- had turned him into a programmable killer.

“Then you are stingy.” Drumm pivoted and gave Mantis a dazzling smile. “She still has far too many questions!”

“You holding back on me, ladybug?” Bucky teased her, redirecting the blame and relaxing into the feel of Rocket’s paw sliding over his thigh under the table.

She answered with a sly grin. “I am pacing myself. Something you should try, Rocket. Drax says marmatoths can die after intense mating.”

Bucky lowered his forehead into his right hand and scrubbed at his brow as Rocket flatly and calmly replied, “Don’t worry. Bucky and I are not marmatoths.”

After the next series of fifty jumps (the maximum considered safe for mammalians), Drumm decided to get some sleep and, as Mantis was yawning herself, accompanied him below deck. There was a brief, murmured conversation, the sound of the linen cabinet opening, and then two cabin doors closing separately.

Groot dozed at the galley table.

Drax said to Hamir, “Regretfully, I must retire.”

“We’ve got something like six hours to kill,” Rocket pointed out. Gamora was on watch and Quill was trying to interest Hamir in a game of Monopoly.

Bucky wasn’t particularly tired, but from his time as an Army sergeant on the front lines, he knew it’d be stupid to not try and get some rest. “You think you can sleep?”

Rocket shrugged but didn’t object, so down to their cabin they went.

“Aw, man. You changed the sheets already?” Rocket complained.

“Just stick your nose in my armpit. You won’t know the difference.”

“Yes, I will.”

“OK, you will. But only because the real thing smells better.”

“Eugh. I hate when you think you’re being charming.” But he was lying. Bucky knew Rocket loved it. Knew he’d missed it and was relieved to see Bucky rally. He showed it by refusing to close his eyes until Bucky had snuggled up with him on the bunk.

They dozed. Woke. Cuddled and nuzzled until Rocket softly suggested, “What do you say we field strip some laser rifles?”

And since that sounded both fun and in need of doing -- Bucky had no idea when the ship’s weapons had last been thoroughly maintained -- he agreed.

They returned to the galley to find Quill glaring thoughtfully at a conjured chessboard as Hamir patiently waited for him to decide his next move.

Eventually, Drumm emerged from below deck. He wandered over to where Rocket and Bucky were working side by side and surveyed the rifle parts that had been methodically laid out.

“You got firepower like this back on Terra?” Rocket challenged by way of greeting.

Drumm shook his head. “Not that I am aware of. My area of expertise is the power that is found within.”

“Right. Magic.” Rocket somehow kept the sneer to a minimum.

Bucky was impressed that Drumm gave no indication of offense: “It is in all of us--”

“Pfft. Not me.”

Bucky had to agree; Rocket barely even acknowledged the existence of the magic words: “please” and “thank you.”

“--and with study and effort that power can be utilized.”

Bucky snarked, “For blowing up moons?”

“For almost anything.”

Bucky reached for the rifle charger gauge in silence because Drumm’s words had struck a little too close to home.

“TEN CLICKS TO THE JUMP POINT!” Gamora called down from the cockpit and Bucky and Rocket raced (each other) to reassemble their respective rifles. Rocket won by two and a half seconds.

They belted down for jump point after jump point after jump point, jolts of swirling weightlessness and bright colors interspersed with brief stretches of calm darkness. Time enough for conversation and recuperation. After the twelfth series of hyper-jumps, even Gamora was wincing as she pushed herself out of the navigator’s seat and, of all of them, she’d been modified to be the most “outer space worthy.”

Drumm was massaging his belly as he paced the galley when Bucky stepped off of the ladder with shaky legs. Drumm rasped, “You get used to this?”

Rocket tried to look tough and indifferent, shrugging. “Eh. Comes with the territory.”

As he and Bucky braced themselves at the galley food prep station and raided the water dispenser, Mantis approached Drumm. “I could assist if you like.”

“You can convince my stomach to cease its tumbling?” He looked hopeful and intrigued.

“Not exactly,” she answered. “But I can convince your mind that you do not feel uncomfortable.”

Gamora wedged past Rocket and into the space in front of the water tap. She poured herself a ration of cold water, saying, “It’s her empathic abilities.”

Drumm hesitated to take her hand.

And given the amount of time that Mantis and Drumm had spent in each other’s company so far on this jaunt, Bucky found it noteworthy. He hid his suspicion behind and beneath a sip of water.

“It is alright,” Mantis assured Drumm. “I am quite adept. I can help you.”

Drax backed her claim: “She regularly assists Bucky. And before him, Quill’s father -- the Celestial.”

“A Celestial?” Drumm asked, although Bucky was certain the man had specific questions for Bucky, Mantis’ “regular” patient. Bucky made a mental note not to give Drumm an opening to ask. And if he didn’t ask, then Bucky wouldn’t have to call Drumm out on his unwillingness to let Mantis touch him.

Drax insisted, “If Mantis could make a god fall asleep, she can certainly ease the urge to vomit.” He held out a hand to her. “Please?”

“Of course.” Mantis curled her fingers around the blade of Drax’s hand and inhaled, eyes closing and antennae flexing. The effort barely made the tips light up before Drax was smiling with relief.

“My thanks.”

“I know,” she replied happily, having already felt his gratitude. “My pleasure. Daniel?” she offered, turning back toward him.

He was frowning now, and expressed concern: “Do you actually experience -- and not simply sense -- what others feel?”

“It depends on the person. Drax is very open and allows me to share his emotions in a way that makes it seem almost as though they are my own.” Her smile dimmed and she looked to Drax. “When you spoke of your daughter, I learned of a parent’s true and unconditional love for a child. It was then that I was certain Ego was wrong.”

Though she spoke in a near-whisper, Bucky was pretty sure Quill could hear her all the way up in cockpit. But if he did, he made no comment.

Gamora muttered, “Ego wanted to use his own children to help him power his expansion throughout the galaxy. That’s no father.”

Drax lifted his chin, catching Gamora’s gaze. “Neither is Thanos.”

Gamora’s throat tightened, but she managed a nod.

Into the heavy silence, Rocket remarked, “Well, this is nice and awkward.” To Drumm, he said, “Didn’t know the family drama was included, did ya?”

Gamora snorted and Bucky flicked Rocket’s ear. Rocket swatted at Bucky’s hand with a token snarl.

“C’mon,” Bucky said, thirst sated. “Time to give Quill a break.”

Rocket grumbled, “Before he breaks something else I gotta fix.”

“I HEARD THAT.”

Which pretty much confirmed that Quill had heard everything.

Rocket slapped Bucky on the thigh. “C’mon. Let’s test out the upgrades.”

With almost five hours to go until the final set of hyper-jumps, Bucky supposed it was now or never. “After you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> marmatoth(s) -- creatures of my own invention roughly based on the Australian antechinus (which looks like a rodent, but is actually a marsupial). The male (often? always?) dies after a mating spree which stresses his immune system to the point that his body just shuts down. Now that’s rough sex.
> 
> Daniel Drumm -- I’m using what I’ve gathered from Wiki (both movie and comics) to base his background on. As for his character, we only get a brief moment with him in the movie, but I’m trying to stay true to the impression I got of him.


	9. Chapter 9

The updates to the ship’s gravitational field sensor made it possible to pick up a wobble caused by excessive volcanic activity on an overheated moon over five hundred clicks away.

“It works,” Bucky congratulated Rocket.

“It does,” Rocket confirmed, but then held up a hand for Bucky to stay right where he was in the navigator’s seat and Rocket slid out of the copilot’s chair. He strolled up the cockpit aisle and tapped Bucky’s knees. “Open up.”

Bemused, Bucky did, letting Rocket brace his paws high on Bucky’s thighs and lean in. Rocket’s ears perked up and he drew a small come-hither circle in the air with his nose. Bucky obliged, ducking down and rubbing his lips along and against Rocket’s smile. Rocket hummed. Claws curled on top of Bucky’s trouser fabric. A tail wound around Bucky’s calf. And then Rocket pulled back just far enough to send Bucky a penetrating look.

In a low murmur, he said, “This ain’t gonna break us.”

This. _Well, shit._ Rocket was making progress on piecing it together (if he hadn’t gotten the picture already) and he wasn’t going to let Bucky run from another assault on his fears. Not while Bucky was trapped in the navigator’s chair and his only escape meant going through Rocket.

Bucky cautioned, “You’re too stubborn for your own good.” Because figuring out how weak and pathetic Bucky had been for so long -- the textbook definition of an obedient soldier to his Hydra masters -- was only going to disappoint Rocket.

Rocket studied him. “Ain’t nothing about you I can’t understand. Just give it a chance.”

“Doesn’t mean you’ll respect me in the morning,” Bucky replied with a rueful smile.

Rocket jumped up onto Bucky’s left thigh, seating himself sideways and tucking both feet beneath Bucky’s opposite hamstring. He angled in close. “Hows about this -- I tell you if there’s anything that would make me lose respect for you. I’ll use my imagination if I have to.”

Bucky nudged his brow against Rocket’s. Sighed. “Fire when ready.”

“OK.” Rocket sucked in a deep breath. “You did some of that awful, humie butt-sex stuff with Quill.”

A laugh burst out of Bucky’s chest. “Hell, no.”

“With Drax?”

“Never in a million years.”

“With Groot?”

“Super serum or not, the splinters would’ve done me in.”

Rocket exhaled, shrugging helplessly. “That’s it. I’m out of ideas.”

“Since when?”

“Seriously. I’ve got nothing.”

Which meant that Bucky still had something. Namely, this. Rocket in his arms.

“But you should know,” Rocket murmured somberly, “my time’s almost up.”

Bucky reared back. “What?” Was he dreaming again? Was he back in that chair -- _the_ chair, Rocket saying goodbye just before Hydra’s machine descended on Bucky and--

Rocket’s claws trailed through Bucky’s beard. “It is killing me not knowing _why_ what that jackass Luphomoid said is doing this to you.”

Inhaling, Bucky muttered, “Luphomoid, huh? I thought he was a Centaurian.”

“Whatever,” Rocket dismissed on a shrug. He kept his focus on Bucky. “What part of ‘you are my mate’ do you honestly think could fold because of _insults?_ Bad ones, at that. I mean, talk about unoriginal.”

Bucky almost chuckled. He rubbed his fingertips deep into Rocket’s fur, tracing the corner of his jaw and the curve of his skull. The line of his neck. “I would never do that to you.”

“Make me listen to drunken, crappy insults? I hope not.”

The smile that Bucky summoned wobbled because this was it. This was as far as he was willing to go. If Rocket didn’t know what he was talking about, then all the better. “Well, since there’s pretty much no chance of me getting drunk ever, they’ll have to be reckless, run-of-the-mill insults.”

“Don’t mind reckless,” Rocket admitted. “Kinda like you reckless, actually. Run-of-the-mill, though, that ain’t gonna happen. Not from you. You’re too smart.”

“Rocket, I’m--do you have any idea how many times my brain has been frozen?”

“No.” Rocket asked with perfect sincerity, “Do you?”

“A lot. Enough to thaw all the smarts and dribble them outta my ears.”

“C’mere,” Rocket softly ordered and Bucky bent closer. Sudden mirth danced in his chest when he realized that Rocket was literally inspecting his ears for leaks. “Nope. Nuthin’ but humie ear wax in there. Pretty sure you’ve still got all your smarts, cutie.”

“God, you’re stubborn.”

“Yeah, and I’ll tell you what’s more: you’ve got a good brain up in here.” He knocked a fist gently against Bucky’s temple. “Those Hydra sponge-heads couldn’t take that. They could wipe it, but they couldn’t take it.”

“What makes you think--”

“You left,” Rocket told him simply. “You opened your eyes, took a look at the world, and you didn’t go back to them. You figured it out all on your own -- that there was something wrong with what they were doing.”

“I failed my mission. Maybe I was being smart -- avoiding the consequences.”

“Naw, that ain’t it.” Rocket hadn’t even had to think before he’d answered. “Being scared -- that ain’t enough to stop you from doing what’s right.”

Bucky gaped. “A lot of people died before that happened.”

Rocket snorted out a breath. “Well, that Stove Rockers coulda-shoulda had your back sooner, that’s true, but I never said he’d done nothing right. Even a busted chromatogram is right twice a week.” Rocket paused to rethink that. “Wait. That doesn’t make any sense. Not even on the Quill Scale.”

Through a soft smile, Bucky told him the saying: “Even a broken clock is right twice a day.”

“Yeah, it is,” Rocket agreed as if Bucky had just made his point for him. “He gave you the nudge. Woke you up. And _you_ walked away. Because you’re smart.” Rocket’s smile turned vicious. “How many nights of sleep you think those Hydra shit smears lost while they waited for you to hunt them down? Now that’s justice. Or, a decent start on it anyway.”

A bubble of laughter caught and popped on a sob. Bucky squeezed his stinging eyes shut.

“So hows about you just tell me why it bothers you so bad -- what that idiot Lupho-taurian said?”

“Doesn’t matter--”

“It matters.”

“Not anymore.” Because even if Rocket were disappointed with the blind obedience of the Winter Soldier and even if he were disgusted with how hopelessly lost Bucky had been for so long, Rocket respected the part of him that had led Bucky to freedom: the broken, empty man who had questioned and quested for answers until he’d collected enough of himself to be a person again. Bucky wasn’t without scars or cracks; hell, he wasn’t anything close to being whole, but he wasn’t what Hydra had wanted him to be. He was remade. The past was done and this was who Bucky was now.

_It’s enough._

And he believed that what he and Rocket had could and would survive even if (or when) the truth finally came out.

Rocket’s paws brushed over Bucky’s brows, prompting him to open his eyes. He did and Rocket peered at him hard, seeking and searching.

Bucky said, “What he said doesn’t bother me anymore.”

“Since when?”

Instead of accusing Rocket of copying Bucky’s question, Bucky simply checked his watch and answered, “Since about ten seconds ago.”

Rocket startled, tail twitching. “Did I say something right?”

Bucky nodded. “Yeah.”

Rocket crowed, “Hah-hah! See, I knew I would sooner or later.”

“Stubborn.”

“It’s a caveman thing.”

“No,” Bucky argued, grinning helplessly at his lover, “it’s a Rocket thing. You just don’t give up.”

The sparks of victory fizzled out of Rocket’s eyes. “I wasn’t always this way.”

It sounded like a warning. The same kind of warning Bucky had given Rocket: _“I’m not the man you think I am.”_ An unnecessary warning, as it turned out.

Now, Bucky told him, “Neither was I.”

“For the record,” Rocket began, “I think you’re pretty frickin’ awesome.”

“Can’t fool a genius.”

“Oh, no. Here we go. You’re gonna try and get cute.”

“And you are all ears,” Bucky rumbled, reaching up to massage those expressive and sensitive, fuzzy ears.

“Knock it off or your pants are comin’ off in about two seconds.” His clawed fingers flexed in both a silent threat and a show of self-restraint against Bucky’s shirt collar.

Bucky dropped his hands, but curved his arms around Rocket’s hips.

Rocket sighed. “Still curious, y’know.” His pale brows arched. “You are gonna explain it to me someday, ain’cha?”

“Someday,” Bucky agreed. Someday long after his and Rocket’s bond wasn’t quite so new. Someday long after facing down the Winter Soldier (without fail) became more of a reflex than a conscious effort and an exercise in strength of will. Someday many, many days from now.

“For now,” Bucky murmured in mock seriousness, “I’m wondering what it’s gonna cost me to get this really swell watch that my mate gave me hooked up with the ship’s comms. You know a guy who can gimme a quote on that?”

“Hmm,” Rocket said, burrowing beneath Bucky’s long, loose hair and sniffing at his nape. “Might drive a hard bargain.”

“Could be a problem.”

“How’s that?”

“He’s already driven it pretty hard lately.” When Rocket leaned back and shook his head uncomprehending, Bucky prompted: “You heard what Mantis said.”

“About mating.”

“Uh-huh. What do you think we’ve been doing these last few weeks?”

Rocket hissed out a laugh. “Well, we ain’t been baking a cake.”

“And if that’s your asking price, then I’m shit outta luck.”

Whiskers drifted over Bucky’s smile. “You’re never gonna be outta luck with me.”

Finding out that Rocket was insatiable should not have come as a surprise -- a pulse-jumping, skin-steaming surprise. But it did.

“Damn it,” Bucky complained, diving for Rocket’s mouth as he slumped down in his chair, thighs spreading and hips hitching, his cock swelling and balls drawing tight. Mumbling against gleaming fangs and soft fuzz, Bucky complained, “How do you even do this to me?”

“Mods?” Rocket reminded him with sass.

“Right. Which was why I spent the last two years as celibate as a monk.”

Rocket’s paw shoved against Bucky’s shoulder hard, pushing him back into the cushioning of the seat. “Wait. You telling me I’m your first since… since when?”

“Since I was a dumb kid from Brooklyn shipping out to fight in a war.”

Rocket’s jaw dropped along with his gaze as he took in Bucky’s loose, inviting sprawl. “Now that’s just not fair.” Bucky grinned and Rocket looked up at him through his pale brows. “Tell ya what, I’ll synch up this fancy watch your amazing mate gave you _and_ get the rest of you up-to-date, too.”

“Sounds like a lotta work.”

“And I am hella looking forward to it.”

Bucky squinted. Speculated: “You sure you don’t want explosives instead?”

“Oh, bright eyes. You and I are gonna be cornering that market. I guarantee it.”

With a promise like that on the horizon, the torment of keeping his hands to himself while Rocket’s fingers tickled and traced his arm submerged him in a kind of sweet, heavy lethargy. Bucky watched Rocket work, one paw dancing over the nearest monitor and the other raising goose bumps on Bucky’s skin in between short pauses wherein Rocket fiddled with the wristwatch.

 _Time,_ Rocket had asked for. It was up to Bucky to let the two of them have it. Hydra was gone and Bucky’s nightmare from the other night hadn’t been condemning him for his submission, it had been a warning: the hand upon the lever that could take Rocket away from him was Bucky’s own. The only clear threat to Bucky and Rocket’s future was Bucky himself… which meant that what Bucky needed to do was finish what he’d started: gain control over the Winter Soldier, leash his demons, and move past the fear.

“OK, you’re all set,” Rocket told Bucky. “Comms, time synchronization, bio sensors, location tracker, the whole works.”

“How does the bio sensor even get a reading on me?” The watch was on his left wrist, after all.

Rocket looked surprised that Bucky would ask. “Well, you feel this, doncha?” He trailed his claws along Bucky’s left forearm, which not only tickled and tingled but sent a shiver down Bucky’s spine.

“Yeah. It goes both ways?”

“Sure does. Not just your nerves, but there’s an echo of your heart rate and blood pressure, too. It’s not as precise as it would be if the watch were in direct contact with your skin, but yeah: two-way communication. It’s the only way to turn a hunk of metal and silicone into an arm.” Rocket drummed his fingers against the arm they were discussing. “Otherwise, out of sight out of mind. Your brain wouldn’t know what’s going on with it without your eyes looking at it. Don’t know about you, but I ain’t gettin’ cozy with that bone-crusher in the dark.”

“Well, in that case, I’m really glad you were so eager to impress me.”

“I did not make that arm to impress you.”

Bucky’s brows quirked. “Oh? Because you didn’t make it for me because you had too many spare parts cluttering up your cabin.”

“I might have--”

“Or because seeing a guy without a decent arm made you sad.”

“That arm _was_ sad--”

“Or because I could give you anything close to its worth in units.”

“Payment’s still outstanding.”

“Or because you needed a hand with prying open that basement panel on Outpost 9.”

“I did, actually.”

“Or because--”

Rocket smacked both palms over Bucky’s mouth and huffed. “Can we just skip to the part where we both know why I made it for you?”

Bucky pretended to think about it for a moment (squinting hard on a slow inhale) before he nodded. His left hand lifted and he marveled at the feel of Rocket’s furry brows against those inorganic fingertips. Rocket’s hands shifted and his claws traced Bucky’s lips.

“Thanks,” Bucky murmured.

“Oh, I think you can do better than that to express your gratitu--”

Bucky’s lips smothered the criticism, rubbed and soothed the complaint away as he hummed against Rocket’s thin lips and incredible fur.

“Hnn,” Rocket whined softly. “We got hours before the jump point, whaddaya say we pass the time without pants on?”

“Hm. Tempting. Or we could finish going over the rest of those laser rifles.”

“Pfft. Stop worrying about me having a heart attack or something from too much orgasming.” Rocket held up his arm, indicating his own wristwatch. “You’ll know if I’m in critical condition.”

“Just our bio sensors are linked,” Bucky wondered, “or everyone’s?”

“Just yours and mine are on direct feedback. Here,” Rocket said, gesturing for Bucky to cycle through the features on the watch until he found the holographic bio scan screen. Bucky’s readings were shown on the left and Rocket’s on the right. There was a menu that Bucky could tap through to see the others’. “There’s an alarm if anybody crashes.”

Bucky recalled, “Drax, Mantis, and Groot don’t wear watches.”

“Nope. Mantis has a pendant. Drax’s are in his boots. And Groot’s got an implant. Sort of. He just kinda grew around it.” Rocket waggled his fingers to give the impression of viney tendrils. But then he paused, seeing something in Bucky’s expression. “What?”

This had been Bucky’s job, long ago: keeping an eye on everyone. He said gruffly, “Gear like this would’ve come in real handy when I was younger.”

Rocket hummed. “You’re thinking about the kids you looked after.”

“Yeah.” He shook his head. “Didn’t think I’d ever completely lose that, y’know?”

“You ain’t lost anything,” Rocket assured him, petting Bucky’s arm. “You’ve gained a partner.” He nodded to the decks below. “Someone’s gotta keep an eye on these jackasses. You up for it?”

“You have to ask?”

“Nah,” Rocket whispered, absorbing the sight of Bucky’s wide smile. “I just really like hearing you commit. It’s frickin’ hot.”

Bucky laughed, leaned in, and whispered back, “I’m up for it, tiger. Let’s do it.”

He felt Rocket’s shiver against the fingertips of his left hand which had settled along Rocket’s lower back. Rocket whined, nosing the sensitive spot at the base of Bucky’s ear and wriggling his muzzle through Bucky’s beard and Bucky had to laugh yet again.

“What’s with the giggles, cutie? Ticklish?”

“For a guy who likes everything neat and tidy and in its proper place, you sure have a talent for making me look scruffy.” Because as sure as God made little green apples, Bucky was never going to look well-groomed so long as Rocket was in the vicinity.

“It’s all part of my plan,” Rocket confided and Bucky hummed at the feel of claws gently combing through his beard, putting him back together.

 _Poor Humpty Dumpty,_ Bucky thought. If only Rocket had been there, that story would’ve had a very different ending.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “I wasn’t always this way” -- Rocket is talking about all the times in the movies when we see him leave someone behind. In the first movie, he’s ready to leave Gamora to the not-so-tender (un)mercies of their fellow prisoners in the Kyln; he tries to convince Quill to leave Gamora behind when she’s drifting in space outside of Knowhere; he refuses (at first) to try to rescue Quill and Gamora from the Ravagers and steal the Orb back from Ronan; he’s the last one of the group to agree to stand up to Ronan (who now has the Orb and is mega-ultra powerful). In the second movie, he leaves Yondu behind at Yundo’s urging: “You have to take care of the twig (i.e., Groot)” with only one space suit and one aero-rig knowing that either Yondu or Quill (or both) will die. I don’t think Rocket likes being so pragmatic. But I think it’s a lesson he must have learned the hard way. Perhaps when he escaped from the laboratory, either leaving the other test subjects behind or destroying the whole place (test subjects included). But he learns, right? He learns that he can make a difference if he just puts his all into it, if he lets himself care, if he invests. So by the time he meets Bucky, Rocket is willing to invest big time. (And maybe Rocket invests so totally in Bucky because Rocket is trying to make up for giving up too easily in the past? But, OK, up until he met Quill and Drax and Gamora, life had taught Rocket to pick his battles; he just didn’t have faith in himself and his ability to affect change. I really REALLY love the idea that meeting Bucky (in this fic series) and helping Bucky gives Rocket the opportunity to come into his own in this way.)
> 
> “as sure as God made little green apples” -- some variation of this saying has been floating around in the U.S. since 1828 apparently


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To show my deep appreciation for the love I received on the previous chapter, I'm making time to update two days ahead of schedule. (^_^)

“Coming up on Ohlpho,” Gamora announced as Bucky’s molecules settled from the jolt of being spat out of that last hyper-jump.

“That was fast,” he remarked, asking her, “This a different route from last time?”

Gamora shrugged. “Um-hm, with good reason,” she hinted and Bucky suddenly recalled the fact that he and Rocket had been, um, busy the last time; Groot had reported the gravitational anomaly only after they’d rejoined the rest of the crew.

“Right,” Bucky huffed, determined not to blush, but it was kind of hard to keep his face from heating up what with Rocket’s tail brushing over Bucky’s knees and curling at the memory.

Rocket cleared his throat. “We’re close enough to be getting some readings. Bucky?”

“Yeah. On it,” he answered, turning to his station’s monitor and initiating a scan. He was more familiar with the software and system now than he had been those brief weeks ago, so he went ahead and ran a comparison of the moon’s remnants with simulations stored in the ship’s database.

A surprisingly long moment later, the system kicked out a result.

There were no matches.

Frowning, Bucky manually selected “IMPACT” and “EXPLOSION” from the menu and sent the analysis through again.

And again: NO MATCH.

“Gamora, take a look at this?” He shared his screen with her monitor and, when she frowned at the results that he was seeing, Bucky knew he wasn’t the only one who thought it was weird.

She bit out, “A moon cannot simply disappear.”

“What?” Quill wanted to know, but Bucky ignored him because _oh my God--_

“It’s still out here. Somewhere.”

Rocket stiffened. “Crap.”

Bucky hastily generated a 3-D holomap of the gravitational fields in the immediate area. Ohlpho’s unfolded, plain as day. Plus five moons. But, according to the navigational data, there should be a sixth. The largest and densest of Ohlpho’s moons was gone.

Bucky overlaid the stored database map with what the sensors were picking up.

“Hold on. Let me show this to our passengers,” Gamora said, transmitting the image comparison to the comms system in the galley. She flipped on the ship’s intercom and asked, “Any theories on how an entire moon simply disappeared?”

A moment later, Drumm’s voice both replied through the speakers and echoed faintly up the cockpit ladder: “It cannot have vanished. Matter can be transmuted into energy, but not simply erased.”

And yet there was no indication of any sort of energetic event in the vicinity. No residual radiation, no chartable microwave radius, nothing. So unless Bucky had gotten all of Rocket’s lectures on space-time, astrophysics, and the quantum realm ass-backwards, then something in this solar system wasn’t right.

Puzzled and very unhappy about it, Bucky initiated the process of widening-widening-widening the scope of the scan, but he had no real expectation that it would do much. Except cross paths with Ohlpho’s planetary neighbors.

For no reason that Bucky could articulate very well, he turned his attention to the third and fifth planets of the system. The fifth -- Luchae -- was inhabited.

On a hunch, he sent to coordinates to Gamora. “Can you get us here?”

“Of course.” She didn’t ask why and Bucky felt something in him relax.

“This planet got people on it?” Rocket checked as he received the new course.

“Yeah,” Bucky replied.

Quill nodded. “Better safe than sorry.”

Rocket grumped, “Unless that moon’s about to smash into a different planet.”

Gamora mused, “If impact is that imminent, I doubt there’s much we could do to stop it at this point.”

“What do you got against saving people, man?” Quill needled Rocket.

“Depends on the people.”

“Well, I don’t think the Luchaenians have done anything to piss you off.”

“Not yet. But I’m trying to be optimistic.”

Bucky rocked his right leg back and forth, his knee bumping and nudging Rocket’s tail. “Where there’s a will, there’s a way,” he stated and let Rocket take that however he wanted.

Meanwhile, the boosted gravitational field sensors were still scanning for deviations in the planetary system--

 _There._ A slight curve in the smooth, predictable field lines of Luchae’s gravity. A blip that shouldn’t be there. Bucky zoomed in closer on it, revealing a sharp ripple, and submitted a command to calculate trajectory.

Whatever it was, it was heading toward Luchae at a phenomenal speed. And it had been traveling for some time. Weeks, perhaps, if Bucky’s suspicion were correct… and with a glace at the estimated mass of the object, yeah, it just might be.

“Ohlpho’s moon -- it’s been moved,” Bucky reported, aghast.

From the mid deck, Drax bellowed, “IT WAS I WHO SAID THE MOON HAD BEEN MOVED.”

“YOU ARE NOT HELPING!” Rocket shouted back, his paws racing over the console, incorporating the newest readings into the course Gamora had set, moving closer to investigate while ensuring the _Milano_ wouldn’t end up getting caught in the gravitational bending.

Gamora shook her head, baffled. “I’m not picking up anything on the spectrometer in that area. There’s nothing large enough for a composition reading. We need to be closer.”

“Not too close,” Bucky warned because the more the gravitational field scans zoomed in, the more intimidating the disruption in the fabric of space became. He’d never seen the _Milano_ navigate anything like this. Maybe the ship could handle it, but Bucky wasn’t eager to find out. Especially if it wasn’t necessary.

“Coming up on it,” Quill alerted them, “but I’m not seeing it.” He leaned forward, squinting through the cockpit windows. “Bucky, you sure it’s there?”

“It’s there. Dead ahead. I’ve got a mass reading.”

Gamora checked, “The same as the moon we’re looking for?”

“It’s in the ballpark.”

Quill demanded, “Then -- why -- can’t -- I -- SEE -- IT?”

Ice filled Bucky’s veins. “Because it’s not the size of a moon anymore.”

“WHAT?”

“Drumm--” Bucky barked, “your missing friend can compact matter?”

“Increase density, you mean? Yes.”

Rocket swore. “Oh, shit.”

Quill sputtered. “Why would anyone shrink and squish a moon?”

Pushing back against the creeping tendrils of foreboding, Bucky said, “We need to find out more about Luchae.”

“Like what?”

Gamora’s fingers were faster than Bucky’s; she deprioritized the spectrometer and accessed the Nova Empire’s public database on cataloged worlds. A tense moment later, she reported: “It’s an established culture with emerging solar technology and mineral resources labeled as adequate. Notable resources include gold and virtually nothing else. Unaffiliated with either the Kree or Nova empires. No trade agreements. No regular communication at all.”

And Bucky had picked up enough about how things worked in the intergalactic community to know what that meant: no affiliation meant no allies. No help would be coming.

Quill asked gravely, “Does that moon look like it’s gonna hit?”

“At this range, it can’t miss.”

“It’s supposed to hit,” Bucky said. “It’s a sniper bullet.”

Quill’s chin jerked up. Rocket’s tail whipped out. Gamora turned to stare at Bucky.

He was already slogging his way through the menus, setting up the simulation in the ship’s computing software, but Bucky didn’t need to see it with his own eyes to know what could happen: “That moon is smaller than this ship and moving fast. There’s no way anyone on the target planet is going to see it coming. And when it hits, it’ll tear that world a new one. Through-and-through.”

Too dense and too fast to stop. They’d have to figure out a way to destroy it before it got within range and _this_ was why someone would want to blow up a moon. This unbelievable scenario right here.

“How long do we have?” Rocket sounded calm, but Bucky knew his hands had to be aching from the death grip he had on the yoke.

The calculation was running on Gamora’s screen now. “We’re still too far out to get an exact fix on the moon’s position -- it’s moving too fast. But based on the range of values here, we’re looking at sixteen hours, maximum.”

Rocket cursed. “It’ll be affecting tidal patterns and seismic activity if it hasn’t already.”

The simulation Bucky had generated ran through the timeline. It showed the projectile impacting with the warping-stretching-crackling planet and its estimated population of ten million consciously aware and civilized individuals.

Their culture had been flagged as a point of interest in the publicly available Nova database, but they’d been classified under Self Isolating, which meant they hadn’t developed the interest or the technology to communicate with anyone outside of their own planet’s atmosphere.

The Luchaenians were people who might have the potential to one day (in the very distant future) participate in the galactic community. But not if that moon hit. The outcome was demonstrated dramatically: the entire sphere would be flattened on one side before the shock wave obliterated it, leaving behind a cloud of cosmic dust and ice crystals.

“Bucky?” Quill prompted. “What’s our window for stopping this thing from killing a bunch of innocent people?”

“Working on it.” He ran the simulation back and then realized he needed more information. “Rocket, what firepower do we have to work with?”

With the barest hesitation, Rocket told him, “Input point-eight yottajoules.”

Gamora shrieked, “WHAT!?” and Quill bellowed, “YOU’VE GOT A MONSTER CANNON LIKE THAT ON MY SHIP!?”

“BE GLAD I DO!” Rocket shouted back. “IT’S ABOUT TO COME IN REAL HANDY HERE.”

The simulation spat out a feasible action plan. “We’ve got plenty of time to get out in front of this.” If the cannon could be used up to three times and wouldn’t require more than an hour to recharge between blasts. “Rocket, check my math and the weapon stats.” He forwarded the results on his screen to Rocket’s. With the breathing room he now had, Bucky realized-- “But we should think about this -- the second we get within range, we’ve lost the element of surprise.”

And against someone who had the ability to warp matter to this extent, that was a very big risk. Astronomical. Literally.

Quill settled back into his seat. “You’re right. We need a plan.”

Rocket waved a paw at his screen and told Quill, “We’ve got a plan. Bucky’s.” In a quieter tone meant solely for Bucky, Rocket praised, “Looks like you nailed it, bright eyes.”

“That’s going to take care of the moon,” Quill told him, “but we need a strategy for getting out in front of the assholes responsible.”

“They’ll be watching,” Gamora realized, drawing on her training as an assassin to make the same connection that Bucky had: a sniper didn’t just line up a shot and pull the trigger; the job wasn’t done until the target was neutralized.

Bucky said, “So we’ll need a gimmick -- something that gets us close without putting them on the defensive.”

Quill chuckled. “Oh, boy. I’ve got just the thing. But…”

Gamora mumbled, “Why is there always a ‘but’ with you?”

Rocket said, “Because he’s a butthead.”

Bucky cut to the chase: “We’re not going to like this plan of yours much, are we?”

“You’ll like it,” Quill insisted, “after it’s worked. So, just--trust me.”

Gamora’s eyes shut tightly. “Oh, God.”

“Bucky,” Quill called over his shoulder, “you getting a reading on anybody -- any other craft -- in the area?”

Bucky checked and then re-checked. Boosted the scan, even. “Nothing yet.”

“Good. We’ve still got time to break the ship.”

“DO WHAT NOW OH HELL NO,” Rocket both reacted and decreed. And then an update flashed on his screen. “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”

“Cloaking the _Milano’s_ call sign. What’s it look like?”

Rocket squeaked, “You’re designating us as a leisure cruiser? For TOURISTS. Rich, poncey tourists!”

Gamora glared at the back of Quill’s head. “You’re painting a bullseye on us for Ravagers and their ilk!?”

“That is exactly what I’m doing. Now, Rocket, break the ship and drift us into the wake of that moon, but, y’know, at an angle. Bring us in to intercept. I’ll send out an SOS. Either whoever is in the area watching will tag us as an easy mark or ignore us.”

“You’re crazy.”

“That’s why I’m the captain.” Quill raised his voice: “DRUMM, WHAT DO YOU NEED TO MAKE YOUR MOVE HERE?”

“A line of sight to the other craft should do it,” he replied via the intercom that Quill had just hollered into.

Bucky caught the telltale apologetic wince of Quill’s shoulders from the angle of his seat. “Whoops. My bad. Sorry galley passengers.” Quill then looked over at Rocket. Urgent and expectant. “So? You gonna bust the nav or do I get to do it?”

“Don’t frickin’ touch anything! You’ll blow us all up, ya d’ast Terran.”

As Rocket brought up a holo keyboard and started typing away, Drumm cleared his throat. “You can rely on Master Hamir and myself to protect the _Milano_ from enemy fire.”

“Yeah? How you plan on doing that?” Quill replied, sounding as irritated as Bucky felt because this was information they could have used sooner.

“The short answer? By enclosing it in a mirror dimension.”

“Great. Sounds wonderful. Whatever it is.”

Interrupting Quill’s muttering, Gamora asked, “Aren’t we forgetting something?”

“Like what?”

“Like our rich and poncey clients? I’m assuming we’re not going to resist being boarded if we’re sending out a distress call.”

Bucky hummed. “Somebody’s going to have to take one for the team here.”

Rocket snorted, “Well ‘poncey’ rules out -- oh, let’s see -- me, Groot, and Drax, obviously. Scruffy Bucky, too… and I’m guessing the magicians want their whereabouts kept a secret. Oh, and Gamora? You’re too famous to risk it, so unless you’re good with covering your face, you’re sitting this one out.”

Grinning wryly, Bucky leaned toward his station’s mic and said, “Hey, Mantis? This might be a good time to find that pink bow of yours and do something pretty with it.” Then he sat up and said to Quill, “I sure hope you’ve got a set of Sunday best aboard, because I sure don’t.”

Quill groaned. “How--? No. This was MY PLAN, DAMN IT.”

“Exactly,” Rocket agreed, keystrokes still going a mile a minute. “It _was_ your plan. Now _we’re_ at the helm. Have fun being Prince Disarming.”

Bucky burst out laughing. Hell, he could even hear Drumm chuckling through the intercom.

“What’d I say?” Rocket checked, glancing up and jerking back at the odd mix of offended amusement on Quill’s face.

Still chuckling, Bucky said, “Something awesome.”

“Heh. Of course I did.” There was a pause. “Explain it to me later?”

“Count on it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “microwaves” -- the solar system (and the universe) emits a sound in the microwave range of electromagnetic spectrum. The fact that a 360-degree map of the cosmic microwave background (from the point of view of Earth) shows areas of varying intensity is puzzling because if the big bang began with a singularity, then what kind of “speed bumps” could cause a clumping pattern of microwaves?? If there was nothing in existence prior to the expansion of the universe, then we’d expect the remnant radiation to be uniform. This is a big question for many physicists, and I think a working knowledge of how microwaves are generated and affected would be super useful for space travelers.
> 
> yottajoules -- according to the Googling I did (that I really hope doesn’t flag me as a danger to society), it would take less than one yottajoule (FYI, 1 yottajoule = 10 to the 24th power (or a 1 followed by 24 zeroes) joules) to destroy the Earth’s moon. So I’m putting the destructive power of Rocket’s second-generation Hadron Enforcer at 0.8 yottajoules (that’s 8 followed by 23 zeroes).
> 
> yottajoules (continued) -- for perspective: the Chicxulub meteor impact site off the east coast of Central America, which is believed to have caused/contributed to the extinction of the dinosaurs, is estimated to have released between 1.3 and 58 yottajoules. So, I guess that meteor could have destroyed the Moon if it had hit that instead. Anyway, Rocket’s Hadron Enforcer 2.0 is not as powerful as that meteor crash, but it’s still nothing to sneeze at.
> 
> “sniper bullet” -- the moon has been traveling toward its target for at least two weeks (maybe as long as a month) because the moon does not have an engine (like a spacecraft) and the sorcerer responsible cannot just sling-ring it through space. The Guardians arrive as the moon is (finally!) nearing its target. (And given the fact that it takes at least half a year for our most advanced spacecraft or interstellar devices to get to Mars from the Earth, that moon is zooming along really fast from Ohlpho to Luchae.)
> 
> Also, I really wanted Bucky to start coming into his own among the Guardians and I love that he can bring a sniper’s mindset to the table. Bucky’s got more to offer, though, and -- muse willing -- we’ll see that come forward.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many many thanks for the marvelous responses on the previous chapter!! Here, have an earlier-than-scheduled update!! (^_^)

Rocket nodded in approval as Quill finished pulling himself up into the galley. He’d changed into a pair of shiny boots of indeterminate, patterned leather with a sharp jacket to match. His shirt -- a bold red -- looked like silk and there was a silver and ruby-jeweled ear cuff winking from his left ear. The pants, though--

“Tell me that’s not a codpiece,” Bucky muttered, trying not to gape at what looked like some sort of crushed velvet deal with laces climbing up from either side of the crotch. He could feel himself cringing involuntarily.

Rocket snorted. “You make a pretty good poncey. Kinda looks like you borrowed some duds from that moron Collector back on Knowhere.”

“Very ridiculous,” Gamora concurred.

“Aw,” Quill pouted. “I was saving this outfit for our first date.”

Gamora was unimpressed. “How about we save a planet with it instead?”

“God, why you gotta be so difficult to please?”

“You love it,” Rocket retorted flatly. “Where’s the ladybug?”

“Here I am!” she called and Quill leaned toward the ladder to offer his hand, which was needful given the long skirt she was trying not to trip on. Her dress was made of some kind of slippery fabric that sparkled slightly. The bottom edge brushed the floor, concealing the very unfeminine and practical boots she was wearing. She held out a length of pink ribbon in her hand. “What should I do with this?”

Drax stepped forward. “I will arrange it for you in the needlessly elaborate style my daughter Kamaria preferred.”

“Thank you, Drax.”

Rocket flicked Bucky’s leg. “You armed?”

“Of course.”

“Good. Gamora, you and I are in the cockpit for this one. Magicians, you dudes are with us. Bring your game. Groot,” Rocket concluded, pivoting sharply with arms akimbo, “you’re Bucky’s backup. Counting on you, pal.”

Groot saluted.

Gamora checked her watch. “We’ll be in range momentarily.” As she gestured both Hamir and Drumm up into the cockpit, Rocket lingered.

Bucky knelt down and smiled. “We’ve got this.”

“I know.” He sighed out a whine. “I just won’t have the best seat in the house to see you work.”

“Drax will tell you all about it later.”

“Not the same,” Rocket grouched and then cupped Bucky’s chin. The claw on his thumb gently tugged Bucky’s lower lip into a pout and he leaned in. Bucky gasped at the feel of that rough, flat tongue flicking over soft skin followed by a gentle nip from sharp teeth. A tug. A brief, steamy suck that jerked every cell in Bucky’s body to attention.

Pulse racing, Bucky cleared his throat. “Easy there, tiger.”

“Don’t like it?”

“Like it a little too much.”

Rocket looked very proud of himself for taking the initiative. “Well, there’s more where that came from.”

“I like that incentive.”

Rocket darted in for one more lip-licking-nipping-tugging kiss and then rushed to the cockpit ladder. The _Milano_ was approaching the gravitational disturbance created by the super-dense moon and Rocket was going to need to keep both paws on the controls.

Bucky and Drax would be acting as the wealthy couple’s bodyguards and keeping to the galley. In order to throw off any prospective assault, they’d elected Groot to act as the welcoming committee (because most people had no idea what to make of him). And while the five of them might end up seeing more action than Gamora and Rocket up in the cockpit, the view in the meantime was crap.

“It is finished,” Drax concluded and Bucky turned, blinking at the elegant arrangement he’d managed with the ribbon and Mantis’ long hair.

Bucky nodded.

“That’s good work, Drax,” Quill approved, looking very impressed. To Mantis, Quill invited, “My lady?”

She took his hand with a smile and Bucky squinted. There was something off about the picture they presented and it wasn’t Mantis’ antennae.

“No,” Drax said, wedging his arms between them and physically prying Quill and Mantis apart. “The sight of you both side by side is painful to the eyes.”

“What!? I look amazing and Mantis is beautiful. What’s wrong with that?”

Bucky had to take Drax’s side on this. “You’re total opposites.” And suddenly, Bucky knew what was wrong with what he was seeing: “Wealthy folks try to look good _together.”_

Quill harrumphed. “How would you know?”

“You think Hydra thawed me out to get rid of normal people?” Almost all of the Winter Soldier’s targets had been moneyed socialites with influence. Some ambitious and well-funded politicians with the wrong platform. A few scientists that could have caused disruptions to existing Hydra operations. So Bucky had seen his fair share of the Earth’s elite. “You look too different. Act like you hate each other.”

Mantis mouthed an apology at Quill before she turned up her nose at him and he sent her a glare.

“Better,” Drax concluded and Bucky had to agree.

“You’re stuck in an arranged marriage,” Bucky told them, drawing from some of the mission details he’d been privy to in the past. “You can’t find common ground. This trip is a necessity.” To Quill, Bucky asked, “Where are we headed and why?”

Drax crossed his arms. “Additional pretense is unnecessary.”

“Let’s hope it is,” Quill said, “but it never hurts to have a story handy. Just in case we gotta stall for time.” He jerked his chin up, gaze flicking to the ceiling, on the other side of which two masters of the Mystic Arts were waiting to do their part. Given that no one had seen them in action yet, there was no way of knowing how much time they’d need to set up defenses on the _Milano_ and possibly retrieve their friend. Better safe than sorry.

They managed to get the details squared away moments before Gamora shouted for them to buckle up. “WE’RE ABOUT TO DRIFT INTO THE MOON’S WAKE!”

Six seats had been installed along the wall of the galley for either passengers (like Drumm and Hamir) or bounties. The seats were normally folded up, used only for hyper-jumps. Bucky lowered the seat portion of one for Mantis, assisting her with her harness so that she didn’t rumple her dress or mess up her hair. He took his place beside her, leaving two seats empty between her and Quill. 

Groot stretched out spanning both center seats and rooted himself into the hardware.

“HERE WE GO!”

At first, Bucky didn’t feel anything. Just a little curiosity maybe about why this part of the plan was so dangerous because, clearly, the _Milano_ could handle it.

And then the ship shuddered hard, titled sharply, and creaked. Metal under stress complained and Mantis’ hand clamped onto Bucky’s forearm. “It’s OK,” he murmured and her grip shifted down to his bare wrist where she could feel his calm and he gladly shared that with her. Everything was fine because Rocket and Gamora were at the helm and they were prepared for this. They were ready to run circles around a bunch of sorcerer-stealing space pirates.

“SENDING OUT THE DISTRESS CALL NOW!”

Bucky sucked in a deep breath. Waiting for the prey to take the bait never got any easier and there was nothing any of them in the galley could do in the meantime. They were here just in case the ship was boarded; they were Hamir and Drumm’s defense because Rocket and Gamora would have their hands full with making the _Milano_ look like it was in serious trouble without it actually being in serious trouble.

 _“Not exactly my idea of a fun time,”_ Rocket had complained because if he had a choice, he’d face obstacles head-on with a laser cannon unfurling over his shoulder. Pretending to be helpless offended him on the basest of levels.

The ship’s engines vibrated, squealed, and it was the Insight helicarrier crashing all over again in Bucky’s ears. Panes cracking, popping out of frame, tumbling through black smoke into the water far, far below--

Tersely, Quill yelled toward the cockpit: “DON’T WE GOT A NIBBLE BY NOW?”

“NOT YET! THAT’S WHY I’M LAYING IT ON THICK!” Rocket roared back.

“A LITTLE WARNING WOULD HAVE BEEN NICE!”

“I THOUGHT THE POINT WAS FOR US TO LOOK LIKE A BUNCH OF JACKASS LOSERS WITH TURDS FOR BRAINS.”

Quill huffed. “NO! I MEANT WARN **_**US**_** NOT THEM!”

On Groot’s other side, Drax loudly said, “NO ONE WOULD BELIEVE WE HAVE TURDS FOR BRAINS. IF THAT WERE TRUE, WE’D ALL BE DEAD.”

Quill shouted back to Rocket, “DON’T MAKE US DEAD!”

“DON’T MAKE ME COME DOWN THERE AND SMACK YOU. NOW SHUT UP.”

Gamora updated them with impeccable timing: “UNKNOWN SHIP WITHIN SENSOR RANGE.”

“YES!” Quill crowed. “MY PLANS ALWAYS WORK.”

“YEAH, BECAUSE WE’RE THE ONES _DOING_ ALL THE FRICKIN’ WORK.”

“INCOMING CALL!” Gamora said and they listened as she tersely acknowledged the communication and reported a navigational system failure: “We can’t get oriented.” And without orientation, any manual piloting could crash them right into the thing they were trying to escape from. “Can you uplink to our ship’s computer? Guide us out?”

Everyone in the galley held their breath for the reply. This was Plan A -- if the other ship lowered their system’s firewall, Rocket would have complete control of both vessels. With a push of a button, he’d know how many people were aboard, their weapons capabilities, their comms frequencies… a veritable open book.

The reply came back, muffled and intelligible.

“What about puling us out?” Gamora tried, undeterred by the refusal. “We’ve got cargo that MUST be delivered.”

 _C’mon, take the bait already,_ Bucky urged.

Another wordless reply.

“Copy that. Standing by for lock-on.”

So it was Plan B then. The one with a strong chance of physical confrontation.

Bucky could hear the smirk in Quill’s boast, “Looks like these get-ups are gonna be useful after all.”

The _Milano_ spun suddenly and Bucky’s stomach lurched. Mantis’ fingers flexed and his nausea settled just in time for the other ship to “lasso” the _Milano_ and halt its descent toward the compacted moon that was speeding toward Luchae. The ship vibrated and the engines stuttered.

“Lock holding,” Gamora reported. To Rocket, she said, “Adjusted trajectory.”

“Got it,” Rocket gritted out and aligned the engines to help rather than hinder the efforts of their good Samaritan.

The ship rotated -- Bucky could feel it drag against whatever was pulling them out of the gravitational dip -- and as the nose of the Milano approached the opposite direction and angled up a bit--

“OH CRAP.”

“WHAT NOW?” Quill yelled at Rocket.

“WE FRICKIN’ KNOW THIS SHIP, DAMN IT. GET UP HERE.”

Quill tossed off his harness and lunged for the cockpit ladder as the floor vibrated under their feet. Drax, Groot, Bucky, and Mantis all watched in silence as he pulled himself up the rungs and Bucky was practically glaring a hole through the ceiling, waiting for Quill to blurt something enlightening, when Drax observed, “A problem which only Quill can address -- this does not bode well.”

“Hmm,” Groot agreed grimly and Bucky concurred in silence because if this was something that neither Gamora nor Rocket could handle, then it was something they hadn’t thought of. A fly ball straight out of the blue--

“YOU HAVE GOT TO BE SHITTING ME!”

“WHAT IS SHITTING UPON YOU?” Drax bellowed before Bucky could do the honors.

“IT’S THE FRICKIN’ _QUADRANT,”_ Rocket replied, presumably because Quill was currently incapable of either forming words or multitasking.

Drax asked, “HOW DID YOU NOT DISCOVER THIS SOONER?”

“THEY’RE MASKING THEIR CALL SIGN -- SAME AS US -- THAT’S WHY.”

Bucky’s head tilted back against the thrumming wall, aggravating the faint headache that had been clinging to his skull since they’d slid into the gravitational rift, and a sarcastic smile pulled at his mouth. Oh, this was going to be so much fun.

Quill’s voice tumbled down to the middle deck, words indistinct in the midst of shuddering metal and squealing engines. He said something that sounded like, “OK. We’re in.”

In? Oh, _in._ Because Quill had once mentioned spending his childhood on the ship that Kraglin now captained, so he had access codes for the system.

Quill asked, “Can any of these assholes recognize you, Groot, and Bucky?”

“Yes. Like, half of them.”

“OK, CHANGE OF PLANS. WE’RE HAVING A REUNION, SO PUT ON YOUR HAPPY FACES, PEOPLE!”

Bucky was behooved to provide a nudge: “ROCKET, IS THERE ANYTHING YOU HAVEN’T TOLD QUILL ABOUT YOUR LAST VISIT WITH KRAGLIN?”

“PROBABLY. WHY?”

OK, now Rocket was just being difficult. Bucky suggested, “COULD BE IMPORTANT NOW.”

Because he was listening for it, Bucky heard Rocket’s exasperated whine.

“What don’t I know?” Quill pestered Rocket.

“You can’t honestly expect me to give you a quote on that, ‘cause it’s a whole frickin’ lot.”

“I’m only interested in what happened when you went to pick up Bucky, smart ass.”

“Well,” Rocket very reluctantly replied and then listed: “I refused to pay full price after I saw that they’d thawed Bucky, I made them give back the components they stole from the cryo-pod, and I may have called them a bunch of assholes on our way out. At gunpoint.”

“REALLY?” Quill whined.

“Well, they _are_ a bunch of assholes!”

“That’s not the point!” There was a pause as Quill sucked in a deep breath. “SO WE’RE HAVING A HOSTILE REUNION AND WE ARE TAKING NO SHIT. STERN FACES, EVERYONE!”

Stern faces, indeed, because happy faces would have roused suspicion among the skeleton crew of Ravagers that met them in the _Quadrant’s_ dock (all bristling with weaponry) before Quill was good and ready to inform them that he had remote access to their entire ship. (Apparently, Kraglin had either neglected to wipe the old pass codes from the computer when he’d taken over, or, as Rocket had grumbled, _“The idiot probably doesn’t even know which button to push to turn the frickin’ thing on and off.”)_

It worked in their favor, though, because when it became apparent that Rocket, Groot, and Bucky were unwelcome and laser rifles were powered up, the resulting stalemate could have really made the day spiral fast. But then Quill cheerfully voice-activated a command directly to the _Quadrant_ that sent the ship into red alert.

“I hope you guys all brought your breathers to work today, because this ship’s about to vent all the air into space.” Quill beamed. “T-minus ten seconds.”

They surrendered without a single complaint.

Groot glared at Quill. _“I_ am Groot!”

Quill huffed at the chastisement, but Rocket was only too happy to stir the pot: “Ten seconds, huh? How is that any better than the count of five?”

“It’s better,” Quill insisted. “It’s LOADS better.”

With narrowed eyes, Groot snarked, “…I am Groot.”

“It is not better,” Rocket agreed, jutting his snout in Quill’s direction.

Gamora and Drax were just finishing up disarming and binding the Ravagers. One by one, the _Quadrant_ _’s_ crew were shoved into the cage that had once accommodated Bucky. Good thing it was so roomy.

Rocket continued, “Ten is only twice as many as five and maybe my count of five would have lasted ten seconds, eh? A slow count. So that everyone could fully experience their own flaming panic!”

Quill looked at Bucky. “You get that he’s a sadist, right?”

“Maybe I approve. Ever thought of that?”

With a wince, Quill griped, “I have now. Thanks.”

Drumm and Hamir emerged from the relative safety of the _Milano._

Quill assured them, “If your missing friend is on board, we’ll find him. We’ll tear this ship apart from top to bottom if we have to.”

Drumm shook his head. “Master Hamir has already inspected every corner of this vessel and has not detected his presence.”

Turning to Hamir, Quill blinked. “You did, huh? When exactly did this happen?”

Hamir replied with an unreadable stare.

Nonplussed, Quill huffed. “Well, you could at least tell us if we’re missing anyone.” He gestured toward the prisoners.

Hamir shook his head and Drumm confirmed, “There is no one else on board.”

“Right,” Quill said. “OK. Groot, interrogation still your department or are you on strike right now?”

“Hm,” Groot harrumphed and stomped over toward Kraglin’s men. Bucky hadn’t seen Groot’s interrogation technique yet, but he was pretty sure that whatever it was, it’d get them some answers. The splinters _alone._

And, as it turned out, splinters in some sensitive places was all it took.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “the count of five” -- this is from the first GotG movie when Rocket, Groot, and Drax take off after Yondu to rescue Quill and Gamora. Rocket gives Yondu’s crew to the count of five to hand Quill and Gamora over. Quill argues that a count of five wouldn’t have been enough and both Rocket and Groot accuse Quill of being ungrateful. (I love that scene.)
> 
> “Groot’s interrogation technique” -- I’m thinking of how he “branches” up the nose of that prison top-dog in the Kyln when he tries to call dibs on Quill. Rocket and Groot make it pretty clear right off the bat that no one touches Quill. (I guess, having broken out of 22 prisons prior to this means Rocket has developed a tried-and-true technique for making don’t screw-with-me first impressions when they really matter.)


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> QUICK NOTE FROM MANNY: We will see the Guardians’ reactions to the situation BEFORE we get the details on the situation itself. Just be patient and try not to skim too much, ey? (^_~)
> 
> THANK YOU FOR THE BEAUTIFUL LOVE ON THE PREVIOUS CHAPTER. YOU ARE AMAZING. *HUGS* (^_^)

Kraglin was on Luchae with a dozen men and one Terran sorcerer. That revelation was the least surprising.

And as one detail after another was screamed, whimpered, and bleated out by the crew, Rocket’s hard stare inched toward a growl that Bucky could feel vibrating in his own sternum.

Quill was speechless.

Groot gaped.

Gamora, with arms akimbo, spat out a curse at the ceiling.

Hamir was made of stone, unreadable but clearly unsurprised.

Drumm’s jaw clenched; his eyes focused on the floor.

Mantis pressed both hands over her mouth in furious denial that anyone would threaten an entire species of people just to get their hands on the planet’s gold.

Drax blinked. “That is a devious plan.”

Bucky rounded on Hamir and Drumm. “You knew this was a possibility.” From the look of them, they’d come prepared for it. “And you didn’t mention it.”

At his side, Rocket’s chin lifted in confrontation and it was a hell of a thing to realize that despite his companions’ mixed reactions -- Drax’s grudging admiration, Gamora’s exasperation, Mantis’ horror, and Quill’s shock -- Bucky knew he could count on Rocket to have his back. Groot, too, as the Flora colossus dropped his most recent interviewee back in the cage and took a stand on Bucky’s opposite flank.

Quill’s gaze moved between Bucky and the sorcerers from Earth and hell yeah he was right to sense some tension. These two assholes had set them up, fed them a sob story of abduction and imprisonment -- things that neither Rocket nor Bucky would have been able to easily turn away from -- and funneled them all into a God forsaken mess.

“Hey, guys,” Quill began, hands out, placating, “we’re only hearing one side of the story here.”

Drumm agreed and thereby lost all burgeoning trust that Bucky might have been willing to offer the man. “A hostage will say whatever he must in order to buy time.”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed. “And keep his secrets.”

Drumm didn’t deny it.

Gamora snarled at their clients. “The two of you are lucky there are innocent people on that planet or we would leave you here!”

“Yo! Hey, hey, HEY,” Quill implored. “Just, let’s take a breath here. Think about this.”

Rocket arched a brow and flatly accused, “Like the fact that there’s a civilization down there with enough gold to make our agreed-upon payment look like a sneeze next to a solar flare?”

“Exactly!”

“I was being sarcastic.”

“No, you weren’t.”

“Yeah, actually. I was. This once.”

Bucky made a mental note to inform Rocket of how proud he was of him for drawing the line here. If Quill was actually thinking of capitalizing on the situation, then Bucky was going to be disembarking at the next stopover and he wouldn’t be setting foot on the _Milano_ again.

Mantis spoke up. “I do not wish to be one of the Hustlers of the Galaxy. I am here to protect people. Those people--” She pointed past the docking bay to the distant planet of Luchae. “Whether they know of my efforts or not.”

“Thank you,” Gamora sincerely said, moving to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with Mantis.

Quill backpedaled, “Look, we’re gonna save the people, OK? Just… would it be so bad to let this play out a little while longer? Right now, the Luchaenians don’t even know what’s coming. And they should.”

Drax squinted. “An entire race of people should know the terror of imminent destruction?”

“Yes. Because-because-BECAUSE--” Quill insisted over Gamora’s indrawn breath, “They will let us do our job. And if they’re thankful in the end, OK, maybe we accept a gift. Nothing like what Kraglin’s planning on demanding. That’s… excessive.”

“Attention-getting,” Bucky corrected. “A bullseye on the _Milano.”_

Rocket nodded. “I ain’t gonna be looking over my shoulder for the rest of my life.”

Quill rolled his eyes. “Oh, like your lifespan’s all that long anyway!”

Bucky took a step forward. “With comments like that, yours is gonna be a helluvalot shorter.”

Gamora stepped in. “Stop. Everyone just back up and breathe.” When Quill, Rocket, and Bucky did, Gamora said, “This is what we’re going to do: we approach the situation with open minds.” She looked to the sorcerers, “But we prepare for the worst. Agreed?”

Reluctant nods all around. Arms remained crossed and weapons untouched.

“Good,” Gamora continued. “Rocket, what are our options -- can we destroy the moon where it is now?”

“No,” he growled. “It’s too dense. It’s gotta be at least half of its original size in order for my second generation Hadron Enforcer to do anything to it.”

“Besides,” Bucky reluctantly weighed in, “interfering with it before we’ve done any ground-level recon could cause serious damage. Preventable collateral.” Because Bucky was thinking about the current power balance between Kraglin, his ground crew, and the sorcerer. He didn’t bother mentioning the obvious fact that it was stupid to show all their cards before they knew they had a winning hand: the less any potential enemies knew about their weapons capabilities the better.

“So we reconnoiter,” Gamora decided, “but we’ll need someone to stay on the _Quadrant._ Quill, you know this ship the best of all of us.”

“But I know Kraglin, too.”

Rocket glared. “You ain’t the only one.”

“Maybe not,” Quill replied evenly, “but you saw him make one of the biggest mistakes of his life, and I don’t think he’ll listen to you.”

“No, that’s _why_ he’ll listen to me.”

“It’s why he’ll be stupid enough to try and prove you _wrong.”_

Rocket shook his head, unconvinced. Truthfully, Bucky wouldn’t put it past Quill to try and take over the whole con if he could.

Quill said, “We both served under Yondu’s command for years. I know him.”

“And if you’re wrong?” Gamora pressed.

“Then that’s why I’ll be going with you,” Rocket insisted. He glanced over at Bucky, who nodded and signed on: “Me, too.”

To Gamora, Quill said, “I’ll code you in to the _Quadrant’s_ computer. Groot and Drax will stay -- keep an eye on the Fun Times Gang over there.” He nodded toward the cage that was packed shoulder-to-shoulder with wary and whimpering space pirates. “Mantis?”

“I will go with you. If both you and Rocket fail to convince Kraglin to abandon his plan, I will do it.”

Kraglin’s plan. Well, Bucky supposed that was one way to look at it. He was certainly the front man and his crew had brought the hardware, but without someone capable of dropping an asteroid or a comet or _a moon_ onto an unsuspecting and gold-mining, unaffiliated and obscure planet, the con would go nowhere.

And it was hard to see Kraglin’s crew being satisfied with only one payday given the success of a formula like this: find a large, astronomical object and aim it at a wealthy target world; crash a space ship on its surface and make good with the locals; look shocked when the sky starts to fall; offer to destroy the threat in exchange for a packed-floor-to-ceiling cargo hold full of gold or diamonds or whatever the hell would fetch some units on the open market; save the day, enjoy the parade, load up the booty and set course for the next sucker.

Bucky couldn’t remember wanting to punch anyone on principle this badly. Not even that cocksure jackass Wilson.

But whether he’d be decking the con men or the sorcerers who’d hired the Guardians, Bucky was as yet undecided; according to the crew Groot had interrogated, the Terran sorcerer was a willing participant in the scheme. A possibility that neither Hamir not Drumm had deigned to mention.

Was the sorcerer an innocent and manipulated abductee in all this? Maybe he was. Bucky was rational enough to concede that the facts were open to interpretation: the weeks of time it had taken to relocate Ohlpho’s densest moon -- a stalling tactic? Plus, there was Kraglin to consider. Bucky remembered him: not a man to inspire confidence in a crew of hardened thieves. He’d want to cement his position as captain. He’d want to put on a show of coercing a master of the Mystic Arts to work for him. Because if Kraglin had a sorcerer under his thumb (and if that sorcerer could run circles around the crew) then it would logically follow that Kraglin was a force to be reckoned with.

Which made Bucky wonder: it had been awfully convenient of the _Milano_ to be traveling past Ohlpho when it had. Had the discovery of the moon’s disappearance been planned? It wasn’t like Kraglin was unfamiliar with Earth -- he’d been within spitting distance in order to scoop Bucky’s cryo-pod out of space. Had he taken the opportunity to contact a sorcerer? Set this very play in motion? And would Quill go along with it all for the sake of giving a boost to Kraglin’s status and a share of the plunder?

But… no. Surely that was going too far. Surely.

A tap to Bucky’s thigh had him looking down into Rocket’s concerned expression. “Plan on sharing?”

“No. It’s nothing yet,” Bucky explained in response to a pair of narrowed brown eyes.

“What did I say about holding out on me?”

“I’m not holding out on you.” What Bucky was doing was holding _onto_ their family. Suspicions like the ones lurking in the back of his mind could destroy the bonds that had been forged through pain and victory and sacrifice. But he had to say something to keep Rocket from thinking that Bucky was shutting him out. “I didn’t get the impression that Kraglin was smart enough for a scheme like this.”

Rocket’s shoulders relaxed. “He ain’t.” And then he regarded Hamir and Drumm. “Since your buddy’s planetside, that means you’re coming with us.”

Drumm nodded. “We’ll retrieve our fellow master, as agreed. We’ve no interest in interfering with the lives of the inhabitants.”

But Bucky couldn’t forget the lengthening laundry list of information that these two had _not_ volunteered. If they didn’t attempt to double-cross the _Milano’s_ crew (like, say, leaving them and Kraglin’s people to take the blame while the sorcerers made off with the gold), then Bucky would be very surprised.

A bark-covered hand landed on Bucky’s shoulder. “I am Groot.”

Bucky nodded. “Yeah.” This time he didn’t need anyone to translate Groot’s worried expression and weighted tone, each word dropping like stones into a pond. This was “be careful.” It was “watch your backs.” It was “I’m here if you need anything on this end.”

Rocket knocked a fist against Groot’s knee. “We won’t even be gone long enough for you to miss us.” And then Rocket strutted toward the _Milano,_ tail swishing with confidence.

Bucky dug deep and found a cocky grin to share with Groot. “You heard him.” Focusing on the sorcerers next, Bucky gestured for them to precede him through the aft cargo hatch. Mantis brought up the rear.

While Quill was getting Gamora squared away in the _Quadrant’s_ captain’s chair, Mantis searched the database for information on their destination, flagging anything she could find.

Bucky and Rocket read up on Luchae, forwarding each other potentially useful tidbits of information such as the fact that the entire planet was covered in saline water and its people, once limited to whatever floating coral reefs and pumice rock that had happened to gather into island-sized rafts on the surface, had figured out how to build entire cities on top of the water. They’d also developed the technology for mining the gold that poured out of the planet’s submerged volcanic vents.

Bucky’s screen blinked with another alert and, upon reading that the Luchae people had green skin (due to a photosynthetic process), he harrumphed to Rocket, “What d’you think I need to know this for?”

Rocket shrugged. “Well, you asked what the Lem looked like. Didn’t want you to be too shocked.”

Bucky snorted. The days of him being shocked by another species’ appearance were far, far behind him.

The scans that Rocket had tailored to their current mission came back with some interesting results: the manufactured city with the highest population was not where Kraglin’s space-to-surface craft had landed. Or rather, “crashed.” There were thousands of islands on this world, but this appeared to be one of the oldest.

“A religious center?” Bucky theorized.

“Never saw much point to those things, myself,” Rocket absently remarked, scanning through another data readout.

“They make useful shortcuts,” Quill said, pulling himself up the ladder with an air of _let’s-get-this-show-on-the-road._ “If you’ve gotta convince anyone that you’re a space traveler from an advanced civilization, then start at the top and work your way down. As a general rule of thumb.”

“I don’t believe you,” Rocket flatly informed him.

“What? It _is_ better to start with people in positions of power and--”

“No, I don’t believe that’s a general rule of thumb. You just now made it one is all.”

Bucky smirked. “No one’s arguing with common sense, Quill.”

“You guys always take all the fun outta everything. Master Hamir, Master Drumm,” he continued, speaking to the passengers Bucky had directed to the rearmost seats of the cockpit, “got anything to share before we launch?”

The vague but pointed prompt was met with heavy silence and Bucky was slightly mollified by Quill’s over-bright smile. Yeah, at this point, it was no secret that there were things their clients weren’t telling them.

Quill buckled himself into the pilot’s seat. “Okie dokie. Let’s save the many from the stupidity of a few.”

“The way you say it,” Rocket said in a tone so droll that Bucky could almost hear his eyes roll, “this’ll be a frickin’ plate of cake.”

“A ‘piece’ of cake,” Quill corrected.

“I say ‘tomato’ and you say ‘blah blah blah.’”

Bucky snickered.

Quill muttered, “I thought Bucky was supposed to be working on making you less of an asshole.”

Bucky kicked the back of Quill’s seat. From Gamora’s navigation chair, it was an obscenely clear shot. No wonder she seemed to like this post so much.

“Nooo,” Rocket drawled. “Bucky encourages me to be my awesome self. You could learn a thing or two from him about how to support others, Quill.”

“Hey, I support you guys. Award-winning support.”

Mantis leaned forward from Bucky’s usual chair. “You have not shown us the trophy you received for this!”

Rocket snickered. “You seen it, bright eyes?”

“No, but I am seeing a clear trajectory to a place of interest.” Just in case Quill needed it in primary colors, Bucky highlighted the supposed crash site in yellow before sharing the route with both pilot stations.

“Alright, alright,” Quill griped. “Let’s go be heroes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The islands of Luchae are roughly based on the “legend” of an island west of Australia in New Caledonia called Sandy Island. It was charted by Captain James Cook in 1774, but has apparently disappeared in the meantime. Since there’s only a whole lot of open water and deep ocean at the coordinates he gave, scientists suppose that Sandy Island was actually not an island at all, but a raft of pumice rock that had clumped together in the ocean currents. This phenomenon is known as a “pumice sea raft” and there have been reports of large pumice sea rafts showing up in the last couple of decades (although not at the location where Cook claimed to have seen Sandy Island). Don’t ask me how an entire species of land-based people could develop on a world covered in water. I couldn’t make the Luchae completely aquatic because then the con of oh-noes-a-giant-rock-is-falling-from-space wouldn’t really be do-able. But, at the same time, I wanted to write about a world that is MUCH different from many of the others we’ve seen in the GotG movies thus far.


	13. Chapter 13

From a distance Luchae was an aqua-green marble, uniform in color with the exception of swirling white clouds and tiny pale specks.

The whirlpooling clouds were caused by the planet’s slightly slower-than-Earth’s rotation which resulted in the exposed surface heating up considerably in the shine of its distant sun. On a planet covered in water, Bucky supposed dust devils would be called vapor vortexes. Or something just as catchy.

The Luchaenian people had long ago learned how to navigate their floating islands of sea detritus toward cooler zones, but now that their dwellings were artificially engineered, they had the ability to take advantage of that ceaseless sunlight, funneling solar power into the nurturing of crops, the shading of homes, and the powering of cities.

With each passing second, green lily pads and pale garden stones and sparkling discs blinked into clearer focus. It was truly impressive (and becoming increasingly more so as the _Milano_ entered the planet’s atmosphere) to see how beautiful a planet that had never burned wood or discovered coal or struck crude oil could be.

“We would ask,” Drumm said into the industrious quiet, “that none of you speak of us until we have indicated otherwise.”

Rocket snidely parroted, “And we would ask why.”

“Very soon, Master Hamir and myself with no longer be visible to your eyes. Continue forward with your strategy to make contact with Captain Kraglin and convince him to see reason. We--” Bucky glanced over his shoulder in time to see Drumm gesture to Hamir and himself. “--will make contact with our fellow sorcerer. Thereafter, we will be prepared to discuss how best to resolve the threat to Luchae.”

Mantis asked, “You will be invisible?”

“So it will appear, yes.”

“But how is that possible?”

“It is possible.” Drumm insisted, “We mean neither you nor the people of this world any harm. We conceal no objectives from you.”

“Just means.” Bucky lobbed the accusation without any real expectation of receiving a worthwhile response.

Drumm sighed. “Only those who have been accepted into Kamar-Taj by the Sorceress Supreme may learn the finer points of our craft. Perhaps you, James Barnes, would consider an invitation if it were to be extended?”

Rocket barked a laugh.

Bucky, however, sent a glare toward both Drumm and Hamir. “I never told you my given name.”

Drumm arched a brow. “Would you believe that I’d divined it by way of magic?”

“No.”

He smiled, undeterred by Bucky’s recalcitrance. “You could gain and offer much to our cause. The cost is high, but the rewards are unparalleled. Or have you truly mastered the monster within?”

Mantis jerked. Rocket stiffened. Quill trilled, “A water landing -- not exactly the best time for personal questions.”

Bucky didn’t ask, but Drumm seemed to sense what he wanted to know: “We all have the power to heal ourselves, to better ourselves, and to rise above. Through study and practice and understanding. You should know that it is possible, and we can offer you that path.”

Bucky’s head ached; his teeth were gritted, jaw clenched tight.

Mantis was staring at him with wide eyes and Quill seemed to be waiting for Bucky’s reaction.

Rocket scoffed, “Bucky don’t need your empty promises, pal.”

But when Bucky didn’t agree, when the silence became even more obvious than the roar of the atmosphere scrubbing against the _Milano_ and the scream of the ship’s engines, Rocket prompted, “Bright eyes?”

It was the doubtful warble in Rocket’s voice that jerked Bucky back to himself. Uncaring of the presence of an audience, Bucky said to Rocket in a tone that was reserved for his lover alone, “It’s OK, tiger.” Then he swung around and informed Drumm harshly, “If I say I’ll think about it, will you stop talking?”

Drumm’s chin lowered in agreement. “Of course.”

And then, suddenly, both men vanished from their chairs. Bucky blinked at the empty seats and dangling harnesses -- they hadn’t merely turned invisible. They’d vanished from the cockpit altogether.

“Drumm?” Quill checked.

“They’re both gone,” Bucky reported, sharing a look with an astounded Mantis.

“But still watching, eh?” Rocket griped. “Frickin’ pre-verts.”

Bucky glanced his lover’s way and felt his hands curl into fists at the look on Rocket’s face. The fear that twitched his whiskers and scrunched his brows: seeing that was bad enough, but his silence was worse. Rocket had never bitten his own tongue when he had something to say and, from the look of him, he had plenty on his mind. A whole slew of unflattering names to call Drumm and Hamir. An entire storm of emotion on the verge of being loosened upon a target.

Instead, he glared at the console, and Bucky had to kick his chair to get his attention. When those brown eyes darted Bucky’s way, he gave Rocket a playful wink and a promise: “We’ve got this.”

Rocket exhaled, nodded, and when he turned back to the console and growled, his irritation was reassuring: “Those two must think you’re stupid if you’d ever consider going back to Terra. You and I oughta teach those bozos a lesson.”

“Maybe after they pay us?” Quill suggested hopefully.

Rocket groused, “Maybe.”

Bucky grinned, letting himself bask (just for a moment) in the offense Rocket was taking at the implied insult to Bucky’s intelligence. Bucky didn’t need purple prose and grand gestures to know how much Rocket cared; the fact that Rocket would consider souring a deal with a paying customer said it all.

The _Milano_ leveled off, running parallel with the calm sea, racing toward an island of considerable grandeur twinkling in the distance.

“Brace for an unwelcoming committee,” Quill cautioned, easing back on the thrusters and lowering the hull toward the water.

Rocket’s paws were flying over the console, tweaking this switch, lowering that lever, and pressing buttons in the moments before the ship skimmed the choppy waves. Bucky was braced for a magnificent splash, but they landed like a goose down feather on the surface of a pond.

“The hell was that?” Quill complained. “What’d you kill my splash for!?”

“Dude. The unwelcoming committee?” Rocket reminded him.

“Great. This is just great. You turned our grand entrance -- our one shot at an awesome first impression worthy of being immortalized in epics -- into a limp dick landing.”

“You’re just mad because the Luchaenian girls’re gonna think you can’t get it up.”

“Can you, like, possibly be a guy for two minutes and just look at it from my perspective?”

Bucky butted in. “I can vouch for the fact that Rocket is definitely a guy.”

“What you meant to say,” Mantis suggested, “is you wish Rocket were also pining for someone.”

Quill squawked. “I am not pining!”

Rocket reached over and patted Quill’s arm in an uncharacteristic show of camaraderie. “Just don’t screw it up by trying to Jackson Potluck up the place with as many Luchaenian girls as possible, huh?”

“It’s Jackson Pollock,” Quill corrected unhappily.

“Thanks to your stellar Ravager sensibilities, Gamora’s respect for you is already on shaky ground,” Rocket pointed out. “I’m saying this as a friend, Quill. Don’t be you.”

Quill petulantly insisted, “I have no friends.”

“That hurts,” Rocket informed him.

“Yes, it does,” Bucky said. “Don’t make Mantis cry.”

“Fine. Mantis can be my friend.”

Bucky snorted as she perked up, her drooping antennae lifting along with her spirits.

By this time, the _Milano_ was now coasting gracefully alongside the constructed island. Sea foam frothed against the floating platform. Beyond the swirling waves of a tropical sea warning of an oncoming storm and over the high ledge of mortared pumice stones, Bucky could make out gleaming spires. Pumice rock that had been piled up and carved, sanded down, and coated in gold.

Yup, they were definitely in the right place.

Kraglin’s ship -- the _Notorious_ \-- was easy to spot. As the _Milano_ ran along the edge of the curving island shore, the other ship was revealed. It had been jacked up onto a thick platform of pumice and Bucky could see at least two men conducting repairs. Or putting on a decent show of it.

The _Milano_ motored within earshot and the figures paused. Straightened. Scowled.

“Oh, boy,” Rocket sighed out. “This is gonna be fun.”

Quill said, “This is a good sign. If things were locked in, they’d be way more confident.”

“No, I mean, I recognize both of these douchebags.” Rocket glanced back at Bucky. “Helped themselves to the cryo-pod components.”

And if that was what had woken Bucky up, then he owed the thieving shits a drink. But he didn’t object when Quill took the lead, popping open the canopy and calling out a cheerful greeting.

“Hey, fellas! The name’s Quill. But you probably know me as Star-Lord.”

Bucky rolled his lips inward to smother the bark of laughter as Rocket shook his head on a deep sigh.

“Lookin’ for Captain Kraglin!”

“He ain’t here,” one of the repair crew grunted out.

“Where can I find him?”

Neither man volunteered an answer.

“Well,” Quill drawled, powering through the chilly reception, “when will he be back?”

“Dunno,” one man said as the other shrugged.

Rocket snorted out a breath. “I’ll just go ahead and dock us, shall I?”

Up ahead was a small inlet that had the promising shape of a harbor. The _Milano_ slid in and Rocket anchored them to the first berth. Their ship dwarfed the others currently lined up along the wharf. The _Milano’s_ wake surged and splashed a surprising distance into the cobbled streets.

“Gently, guys,” Quill coached.

“This ain’t all us. The mass from that incoming moon is already creating extreme tidal patterns.”

Mantis leaned closer to the glass. “What an adorable place!”

“Something tells me we’re in the land of very small people,” Quill muttered and indeed they were. No sooner had the engines begun to idle than an officious-looking group of petite, green-skinned and armored beings marched toward their berth. Bucky marveled at how closely they resembled Groot’s chosen character from the game back at the bar. Minus the wings. And their weapons were far more realistically proportioned.

“State your business here, travelers,” a stern-looking female demanded as soon as the engines quieted. She was armed with a spear that looked like it was better suited to skewering fish than winning a battle, but it was clear that she meant business.

Quill stood, leaned irreverently against the canopy frame, and flashed a winning smile. “Hello. I’m known as Star-Lord. It has come to my attention that Kraglin Obfonteri is here. I’m here to speak with him.”

Her scowl deepened. “It is our understanding that your ships have the capability to communicate with one another.”

“In most cases, yes.”

She leaned back, tilted her chin up, and assessed Quill’s expression with narrowed eyes. “Follow me, Star-Lord, but you and your crew must leave all weapons behind.”

“We understand.”

Bucky had read _Gulliver’s Travels_ as a boy and now he struggled not to gawk at the scaled-down version of the place and its people. Although Rocket was only a few inches taller than what seemed to be average height here, he was intimidatingly burly in this place.

Rocket’s nose twitched as he sniffed the air, eyeing one doorway after another as they were guided through the main market thoroughfare. Green faces peeped out at them from unshuttered windows: a slender girl braiding her dark green hair, an older man cradling a child on his hip, three women taking tea (or its Luchaenian variant) on a second-story balcony.

The street itself seemed oddly empty. Vendors had tucked their wares tight against the walls of the buildings and spilled into side streets. The only reason Bucky could think of for that would be to make room for visitors like Kraglin to come and go. The fact that no one screamed or gasped or made rude gestures their way only strengthened Bucky’s suspicion that Kraglin had put on his friendship hat (if he had one) and so far it was working for him.

They were shown into a wide, circular courtyard near the center of the island.

“Stand here,” the warrior woman ordered them. “Do not damage anything.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Quill agreed and watched the woman depart. The male and female warriors in her company remained behind, forming a wall blocking any attempt at wandering further along.

Bucky scanned the entire central complex, from the mysterious arrangement of gold discs wedged into the ground at various angles to the sparkling spires that he’d glimpsed from the _Milano._

“It is quiet. Peaceful,” Mantis observed with a soft smile. “I like this place.”

“Don’t get comfortable,” Rocket warned her.

“Not an issue,” Quill muttered. “There’s not even a place to sit.”

“Sure there is,” Bucky replied before Rocket could insinuate that that was Quill’s own fault for being fat. Bucky could see where that argument would end up (and he did not want to get either himself or the dimensions of his ass dragged into it). He nodded back toward the harbor. “Plenty of room in the _Milano.”_

“Compared to this, yes,” Quill wholeheartedly agreed, grinning as two young boys peered out at them from a shaded street.

But it wasn’t the youngsters who spoke to them: “What do we have here? More visitors from elsewhere?”

Bucky turned at the sound of a wizened, male voice. He’d outflanked them, approaching from the rear, and it caused a bit of a kerfuffle among the warriors. One was shoved as his commanding officer gesticulated for him to go after the commander. The others gripped their weapons more tightly.

Meanwhile, Bucky was taking in the sight of the little, old fellow. He appeared to be ancient, so ancient that his skin had passed the fresh, leafy color of the welcoming committee soldiers’ and was now dark and faded. If he’d stood next to Groot, Bucky might not have seen him at all. Perfect camouflage.

Unlike the others, he wore neither woven lengths of flax-like fibers nor light armor of polished shell. In fact, he wore almost nothing at all. And Bucky was undecided if the specks of thick paint on his body were meant to distract from his nudity or draw attention to it.

Quill opened his mouth.

Rocket said, “You forgot your pants, pal.”

The elder scoffed. “I never wear the horrid things. Especially not when addressing visitors.”

Bucky said, “I hope you don’t mind if we do.”

“Hmm, yes. From this vantage point, the view -- while quite lovely, I’m sure, and certainly educational -- would be quite _familiar_ for just-made acquaintances.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Quill jumped in.

Mantis knelt before saying, “Your world is beautiful.”

“Why thank you, child. And I’m sure you’ve seen many, haven’t you?”

“A few.”

“And what brings you to mine?”

From around the corner of one of the larger buildings at the old Luchaenian’s back, a familiar face emerged. Kraglin. He drew up short, blinked once, twice, and blurted, “Well, if it ain’t the Star-Lord himself.”

“Hey, Kraglin. Looks like you’re having some trouble with your ship. Need a hand?”

The entire right side of Kraglin’s face twitched hard. “You’ve got some timin’ -- I’ll say that for ya, Quill.”

To the elderly Luchaenian, Rocket muttered, “This yahoo here is what brought us to your planet.”

Bucky suppressed a snort because -- _oh God_ \-- Rocket had no idea what he’d just said. Yahoo. Straight out of _Gulliver’s_ _Travels_ _._ Bucky was going to have to figure out how to explain that one so that Rocket got a kick outta it.

“He’s a yahoo, is he?”

“Oh, yeah,” Rocket assured the Luchaenian. “And the guys who arrived with him are bozos.”

“Rocket!” Quill scolded.

“WHAT?”

Apparently, it would take more patience than Quill possessed to explain the reason for his objection because he simply prompted Rocket, “Captain Kraglin’s ship??”

“Yeah? Looks broken. What d’you want me to do about it?”

“Fix it,” Quill bit out through a very wide smile.

“I’ll see what I can do.” He turned toward the elderly man. “It was nice meeting you, but seriously, let’s try from some pants next time, eh?”

The old Luchaenian giggled.

“C’mon, bright eyes,” Rocket said to Bucky with a friendly slap to his leg. “The Star-Lord has spoken.”

“Oh! Just a moment. Allow me to…” The old man lifted a silvery conch shell to his lips and blew. His cheeks puffed out and his eyes squeezed shut, but Bucky didn’t hear a thing. Rocket did, though. He winced, ears flattening against his skull.

“Ow,” he said as the old man lowered the shell horn. “Please don’t do that again.”

“My apologies. I merely wished to summon--”

“Greatest Father!” a female voice called out. Bucky heard the pattering of running footsteps and then the unhappy female commander of the welcoming committee trotted into the square. “I have been searching for you!”

“And now you have found me.” He looked very proud of himself for having made it a challenge for her. “These two, Rocket and Bright Eyes, will be escorted to Captain Kraglin’s ship to assist with repairs.” He turned to Rocket and checked, “Is that satisfactory?”

“Yeah, more or less, but uh, his name’s Bucky.” Rocket patted Bucky’s thigh.

“Yet you called him ‘Bright Eyes.’”

Quill broke his murmured conference with Kraglin to interject, “Rocket’s the only one who calls him that. Pet name.”

“You are Rocket’s pet?”

Bucky had never seen Rocket look embarrassed before. It was kind of entertaining. Bucky clarified, “I’m his mate.”

“’Bright eyes’ is a term of endearment, ‘sall,” Rocket mumbled and, beaming, Bucky reached down far enough to lightly flick his ear.

“C’mon, tiger. Let’s go fix a ship.”

The commander pointed to a half dozen of her unit, gesturing for them to accompany Bucky and Rocket.

“And perhaps,” the Greatest Father mused as the force divided, “you might make time for a chat later.” Looking from Rocket to Bucky and back again, he admitted, “The mating habits you allude to sound fascinating!”

Rocket flapped an arm in exasperation. To Bucky, he griped, “Why is everyone so frickin’ interested in--”

He stopped. Stared at something over Bucky’s right shoulder. Exhaled heavily. Bucky followed his gaze toward a creeping shadow. Dark and large and Bucky found himself looking up at the gigantic moon hovering overhead in the sky.

“Aw, crap,” Rocket said and Bucky echoed, “Shit.”

It didn’t look like they’d been taking a look at the _Notorious_ after all; the sky was falling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gold leaf -- this has been developed into an art in Japan. Kyoto’s famous Golden Pavilion Temple (Kinkakuji) is covered in insanely thin sheets of gold leaf and as erosion wears it down, more is applied. So it’s possible to have buildings that LOOK like they’re made of solid gold on a floating sheet of pumice; using gold leaf means adding 120 grams of weight per 1000 sheets (a sheet is approximately 5x5 cm). 
> 
> Gulliver’s Travels (by Jonathan Swift) was published in 1726 as a satire. Most of us are more familiar with the heavily edited children’s version, the first book (of four) in particular, which is about Gulliver’s stay with an island nation of very small people (called Lilliputians).
> 
> Yahoo -- in the fourth book of Gulliver’s Travels, Gulliver finds himself surrounded by Yahoos who perch on trees above him and poop on him. Turns out the Yahoos are uncivilized humans. So Bucky gets a kick out of the parallel between Kraglin and a Yahoo.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: implied character death (and totally preventable angst)
> 
> How can I express my appreciation for those who genously shared their love of the previous chapter? ... I know! How about a sooner-than-scheduled update!? (^_~)

“Greatest Father?” the commander asked, her fierce glare fixed upon the moon overhead and spear held at the ready. Her warriors quickly recovered from their shock and struck similar defensive poses.

A dozen fishing spears against a falling moon.

“That, my dear,” the old Luchaenian said, “is the threat we have all sensed of late, but have been unable to see.”

Bucky watched her battle back her fear. Her voice was steady when she asked, “Is it falling?”

“Let us assume it is. Summon the able-bodied to retract the anchors -- if Nocca grants us time, we may yet move Wendofel to a safe distance.”

Quill assumed, “You’ve dealt with these kinds of things before?”

“Nothing so large as this,” the Greatest Father replied and though his expression was serious his tone was light. As though he were remarking on a swirling could.

The real question to Bucky’s mind, though, was why now? Why was the sorcerer restoring the moon to its previous size and density? Or was the enchantment (or whatever) canceled out because Hamir and Drumm had neutralized the guy? The plan had been for the masters of the Mystic Arts to retrieve their colleague and then discuss how to clean up the mess, so it felt like someone had missed a step here.

“Captain Kraglin,” the Greatest Father said with deference as the Luchaenian commander ordered emergency maneuvers that would do no good at all. Even if that moon missed the island, it’d take out the planet under it. “Perhaps you can aid us in our time of need as we have aided you?”

“Well, ah, I’d love nuthin’ better, sir,” Kraglin garbled, his mouth so dry that the words whistled and clicked off of his tongue. “But, ah, my ship ain’t…” He sent Quill a pleading look.

And Quill gallantly rescued him. “We’ve got this. C’mon.” The grip he had on Kraglin’s shoulder tightened until the tendons in Quill’s hand stood out in relief. Quill told the elderly Luchaenian, “You concentrate on getting your people to safety, and we’ll handle that.” He nodded skyward and then, focusing on Mantis, Bucky, and Rocket, said, “Back to the _Milano.”_

Back to the _Milano_ they went. The return trip seemed to take forever: Bucky’s sense of urgency was riding him hard, and yet he didn’t dare run on these pumice streets. As it was, he nearly stepped on no less than a dozen Luchaenians, their small faces pulled tight with stress as they rushed to their assigned stations.

Dodging around a youngster who darted across his path, Rocket muttered, “At least no one’s screaming their head off.”

Yes, there was that. “What do we gotta do to get the ship set up for this?”

“Got a harness built,” Rocket explained concisely. “We slap a spacesuit on one of you guys; anchor the Hadron Enforcer to your chest; and then out you go. Boom, boom, done.”

“Two booms?” Quill checked, meanwhile, Bucky was stuck on-- “‘Out we go?’ As in outside the ship?”

“Well, we sure as hell can’t fire it from inside the cockpit.”

True, but-- “What about from the open hatch?”

“Only if we’ve got no other choice.”

Quill shook his head. “Man, Drax is gonna cry.” Bucky glanced over in question and Quill added, “Out-ship gunfights -- kinda his niche.”

“Frickin’ lunatic.” Rocket sucked in a breath. “So who’s up for this?” He looked between Quill, Kraglin, and Bucky.

A thrill of pure terror shot through Bucky’s veins. Not so much at the thought of what had to be done, but that Rocket might just have to be the one to choose Bucky for the job. With the amount of firepower that cannon was capable of (and with it strapped to his chest), the kickback would be a lot. Enough to crush his ribs?

“I’ve fired it before,” Quill said. “I can do it again.”

“Weren’t you part god at that time?” Bucky pointed out.

Rocket frowned. “Oh, yeah. You were.”

So Bucky sucked in a breath and said, “I heal faster than you.”

A claw clamped onto Bucky’s knee as Rocket dragged him to a halt. They’d just arrived at the wharf and the ship was right there, but Rocket was immovable. “Bucky--”

A strange calm settled in his veins. “It’ll be OK. Just show me what to do. We’re probably gonna need all four of you guys flying the ship.” Or else the _Milano_ would end up getting pulverized by the blown-off pieces of moon rock.

“We’ve got your back,” Quill vowed and then practically hauled Kraglin aboard.

Answering the single tug that Rocket gave Bucky’s pant leg, Bucky knelt. Luchaenians marched and jogged here and there. The island shuddered, rocking harder in the ocean waves as one anchor line after another went slack. Rocket’s paws framed his face, sliding over his beard and pressing hot fingertips to his temples. His thumps petted Bucky’s cheek bones, claws dangerously close to Bucky’s eyes, but he didn’t flinch. In this oasis of calm, he let Rocket press their brows together.

“I ain’t lettin’ anything bad happen to you.”

“I know.” He cupped the back of Rocket’s head and stroked fingertips down his back, just to the side of the hardware along Rocket’s spine. God how Bucky wanted this moment to never end, but that moon was only going to get closer. Already, the restless sea was rippling, waves sloshing against the harbor. A boisterous splash soaked the knees of Bucky’s trousers. Rocket hung on despite the saltwater gushing over his toes, so Bucky made himself pull back. “Show me what I gotta do--”

The island wobbled beneath them, tilted, and Bucky heard a distant _crack!_

“C’mon, guys!” Quill bellowed as Kraglin gave Mantis a hand from dock to cockpit. Rocket leaped for the open canopy. Bucky was an instant behind him, but that instant was enough. Too much. It stretched out. A moment pulled lengthwise at the event horizon of a black hole.

The sound of stone splitting. Shouts. Screams. The island angled back as though skewered on a single fulcrum and Bucky stumbled, put out his arms for balance, gaped at the sight of a building twice his height cracking right down the middle.

Sounds of terror. That structure was going to topple and Bucky heard the cries of children--

“BUCKY GET IN HERE!”

But he was already moving. “GO!” he shouted back, cringed at Rocket’s denial, cut off abruptly by the sealing of the canopy. There was no time and no help coming for the ones that had been herded into the city’s center by the capable adults. Just Bucky.

He thundered up the street, sprinting as a second and a third massive structure tipped and crackled. It was just pumice rock, sure, but this place was coming apart--

The courtyard. The crowd of young and old, all huddling together and watching fearfully as golden spires rocked to and fro overhead. A snap. A grating crackle. A tower slid off of its crumbling foundation and fell--

Bucky’s left hand caught it -- his fingers curling around a window -- and he spun the entire structure aside. Crashed it into a smaller, neighboring tower. It was the best he could do because another building was caving in and he had to leap over a shop of some kind to get to the next street, plant himself in front of it and brace its falling facade.

“Bucky!”

The voice of the Greatest Father. He was here. Bucky found him easily enough amid the sea of faces, the bright green of young children clustered around and clinging to his weathered form.

“You need to get everyone out of here!” At the lost, fearful look in the elder’s eyes, Bucky struggled to come up with an alternative.

A wave crashed into the island, spray misting up over the rooftops--

“To the Ark!” the Greatest Father decreed, lifting the shell horn to his withered lips and blowing, long and hard. Though Bucky heard nothing, the effect was immediate. Elders paired themselves up with youths and began moving back. The half-buried golden discs that Bucky had admired earlier began to lift, flatten, spin, and twist. The soundless horn blew on and, one by one, the discs locked into a new position. Like numbers in a combination lock. And then the center of the plaza yawned open, revealing spiral stairs that descended. Into what, Bucky couldn’t see. He was stuck in place, blocking the building’s collapse.

The Luchaenians trotted down the steps as the Greatest Father lowered the horn. Another wave rocked the island and Bucky lurched awkwardly, swatting aside a second toppling spire. It speared a storehouse, which was unfortunate for the storehouse, but freed Bucky up to shift around and kick at the roof of what might have been a ceremonial hall or library before it could slide off of its folding walls and block the entrance to the Ark.

Meanwhile, the looming shadow was darkening; the moon was getting closer. Or less dense.

_C’mon, Rocket. What’s the hold up JUST TAKE THE SHOT._

“Bucky of Elsewhere.”

Bucky turned and found himself the recipient of a solemn gaze. “Greatest Father of Luchae,” he replied for lack of any other name to use.

The elder was holding the horn tightly in both hands as the island shuddered. Cracks were appearing in the streets as the roiling ocean battered the masonry.

“I am sorry, my friend. We cannot fit you aboard the Ark though your efforts have well-earned you a place among us.”

Bucky tried to smile. “I understand. You need to go.”

The warriors surrounding the Greatest Father now urged him forward. Many battered and bloodied adults -- Luchaenians who had been charged with attempting to navigate the island -- were stumbling toward safety below. Warriors who had been sent out for one last sweep of the disintegrating island darted and dodged their way into the courtyard to report in. Some toted an injured straggler. Most returned empty handed. Their commander was the last to set foot on the stairs. Several steps down, she paused and turned back. Bucky was straining into the weight of a dangerously tipped facade, wedging himself between two crumbling buildings just to keep the Ark entrance clear.

“Thank you,” she said. “May Nocca protect you.”

Bucky didn’t know who Nocca was, but he’d take all the help he could get.

The commander leaped down into the Ark and the entrance sealed shut on a corkscrew of motion. Then came a series of gritty _pops!_ The island trembled and--

Bucky reared back as seawater geysered up, frothing and churning, from the hole left in the wake of the Ark’s departure. The island rocked and rolled like a raft… because that was precisely what it now was. Whatever anchors that hadn’t already been retracted in a bid to relocate the island were no match for the waves. The island was cast adrift and, as a great swell arched and curled in the distance and Wendofel tipped drunkenly, Bucky thought he caught a glimpse of a large, gleaming sphere beneath the waves. The Ark. Anchored securely to the seabed whereas Wendofel was now left to the mercies of Luchae’s gods.

_Well, shit. Now what?_

Bucky staggered along rubble-clogged streets, trying to keep to larger, more solid pieces of rock--

And then, suddenly, it leveled. The entire island creaked and trembled before going perfectly still. Flat and stable. Beyond the jagged edges of collapsed buildings, Bucky could see the ocean churning. Sloshing and rolling and falling away because--

_Oh, God._

The island was levitating.

“It’s a nice enough planet, I suppose,” a young man said from behind Bucky and Bucky turned slowly. A bookish sort of boy with a head of tangled hair offered Bucky a tight smile. “Kind of boring, though.”

“Some people like ‘boring,’” Bucky said.

The boy -- God he couldn’t have been more than sixteen years old -- shrugged. “Those kind of people are dead already -- they just don’t know it yet.” His smile stretched. “Like you. Flexing your machismo. You think you’ve saved them? Nothing can save them now.”

He pointed up to the moon.

“You could,” Bucky told him. “You could save them all and be a god.”

“Well, if you hadn’t shown up with a pair of sorcerers to take me back home, yeah. That was the plan.”

Bucky didn’t take his eyes off of the boy as he said, “I don’t see either of them around. So why does that plan have to change?”

“Because they know about this place now. Every place that I know, they know. They’ll hunt me down. Do you know what that feels like?”

Bucky inhaled slowly. It wasn’t his imagination that the air was getting thinner, was it? “I do, actually.”

“And do you know what it’s like to have everything stripped from you? Your power, taken?”

“Yeah.”

“Then, like me, you’d rather die than let that happen.”

Bucky’s pulse pounded in his veins. “So why are you bothering with all this?” He jerked his chin toward the soaring hunk of pumice rock. “The moon you towed in is more than enough to get the job done.”

“Not before I’m yanked out of harm’s way. That’s why I need you--” He waved at someone standing behind Bucky. “--to keep him from fucking with me.”

Bucky glanced back and there stood Hamir just on the other side of the massive hole where Wendofel’s courtyard had been. The grand architecture that Bucky had admired lay in ruins of pale dust and dulled gold. Like bleached pyrite.

“You’re my shield,” the twisted little twerp announced in triumph, “and if I couldn’t be a god in this world, then you can have a front row seat for the show in the next.”

The only seat Bucky wanted was the one right behind Rocket’s in the cockpit of the _Milano._

The _Milano._

No sooner had Bucky thought the name than it happened: a silent explosion in the sky. A great hole punched through the center of the falling moon. Dazzling sunlight speared through dual shock waves rippling-pushing-rushing bits of rock far and wide, from one horizon to another.

 _He did it,_ Bucky realized.

And then a shrill note pierced the deathly quiet. Bucky’s watch. He glanced at the screen, heart wedged in his throat, and-- _no. No, no, no._

Rocket’s half of the screen. Rocket’s heartbeat was-- flatline. No pulse. No blood pressure. No temperature reading. No location. Nothing.

Rocket was gone.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: sexytimes (flashback), assorted flashbacks (so watch out for shifting tenses), violence, attempted suicide

Gone.

Bucky tapped at the watch. Shook it. Bared his teeth and snarled at it, but the readings didn’t change. There was no living heart attached to Rocket’s wristwatch anymore, which meant that either the watch had come off (a feat Bucky had not once witnessed and had zero reason to realistically expect) or Rocket was dead.

Bucky’s gaze lifted to the sky. Sparkles of shooting stars were burning up in Luchae’s thick atmosphere. Bursts and streaks overhead. Like fireworks.

Like lost souls.

Rocket was dead.

And if Rocket was dead, then what was waiting for Bucky on the other side of this shit?

Nothing he had the strength to fight for.

Not too long ago, Bucky had given his life a good, long look. He’d looked and he’d hated most of what had been staring right back at him. Hated it enough to try to balance the scales a little bit because even if the Winter Soldier was all that Bucky was ever remembered as -- even if no one knew that he’d done anything worthwhile with his life, Bucky wanted to know it. A silent legacy of good (though drowned out by the howling of un-avenged souls) was better than simply giving up.

But now? Now Bucky didn’t really see the point.

All he saw was ruined homes. How many hands had it taken to cement and carve this floating city? How many years? How many dreams? All demolished now. Whether or not the meteorites peppering the sky caused any harm to Luchae was moot. The damage had already been done.

And here Bucky stood, bracketed by enemies: Hamir, who hadn’t spoken a single word (not even to warn them), and this asshole kid, who thought death was gloriously vengeful even though he was too young to have even _lived._

Caught between wisdom and ignorance, Bucky chose the one he had the best shot at beating the living daylights out of.

His left fist whooshed through the air as he launched toward the boy. For a gratifying second, as Bucky hurdled over the rubble separating them, the boy’s eyes widened.

And then his uncallused hands shot out--

A shield of glowing red and sparking orange. The bionic fist crashed into it but, even with the full weight of his fury and pain, Bucky couldn’t budge the little bastard from his stance.

That was why he’d broken off a section of mortared wall with his right hand and _that_ chunk he hurled at the kid’s unprotected feet.

The boy yowled and hopped, wincing and favoring his bleeding left foot--

Bucky spun, swooped under his guard--

A buzz saw from the boy’s opposite hand zoomed toward Bucky’s left arm and Rocket’s watch--

Smirking hard, Bucky pushed himself back, falling. He slammed into the side of a building and kicked both feet into the little shit’s belly.

The boy tumbled back, arms flailing -- shield and saw winking out -- and falling with a graceless clatter in the detritus of his would-be empire.

_Are you watching this?_

Bucky grabbed at a corner of what had once probably been a living room and pitched it high in the air so that his lowly highness could see it coming nice and clear.

_Are you watching, Rocket?_

As the boy swatted the projectile away with a frustrated cry, Bucky dived in, boot heel first. And hit his mark right between the little asshole’s legs.

Somewhere, Bucky knew, Rocket was laughing. Laughing his smart-ass tail off as the boy groaned and cringed and tried not to puke his guts out from the sickening pain.

As if this child could understand what real pain was.

As if he’d ever been taken apart, piece by piece, over and over.

As if he’d ever been desperate enough to leave everything behind and chase after shadows and figments and ghosts.

As if he faced all that every time he closed his eyes and dared to hope for a few hours of sleep.

_“Shhh, bright eyes…”_

Bucky swayed at the memory, knocked breathless by the feel of Rocket’s rough paw scraping softly over his brow. Claws combing through the hair at his temple where Bucky’s tears had already soaked the strands.

> “Come back to me now. That’s it. Open those eyes, cutie…”
> 
> “Rocket?” he’d rasped in the darkness, blinking at the star-studded porthole.
> 
> “Who else, dumbass?” Rocket had crooned, jolting Bucky from the fading echo of terror with a snort.
> 
> “You’re a dick.”
> 
> “Hey, gets the job done.” A night light (one of Rocket’s designs) had clicked on, its ghostly glow creating the illusion of a mist around their bed. “Tell me somethin’ you don’t know.”
> 
> A new approach. _Well, why not,_ Bucky had mused. It wasn’t as if they’d found the magic formula yet, the magic spell that would lull Bucky back to dreamless sleep for another four hours minimum.
> 
> Humming, Bucky had snuggled and nuzzled into Rocket’s fur. “I don’t know how hot the Sun is.”
> 
> “Neither do I,” Rocket had admitted, “but it’s your average G-type main-sequence star, right? So, I’d put it in the neighborhood of fifty-five hundred Kelvin. Plus change.”
> 
> “Sounds pretty hot.”
> 
> “I can think of something hotter. C’mon, bright eyes, gimme another.”
> 
> “I don’t know how to adjust the navigator’s seat for more legroom.”
> 
> “Well, lucky for you, you’ve been sleeping with a guy who knows the cockpit inside and out. Prepare to experience relief tomorrow.” Rocket’s paw had gently picked and smoothed over Bucky’s scalp. “Make the next one a toughie. I can take it.”
> 
> “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
> 
> Those warm caresses hadn’t even hit a speed bump. “You’d keep on fighting, that’s what. Know why?”
> 
> Bucky had shaken his head. “Nope.”
> 
> “Because you’d be fighting for both of us. An’ I don’t give up.”
> 
> “Oh, really?”
> 
> “What--you think you can tell me different?”
> 
> Bucky had scrunched down in bed, nosing his way over Rocket’s shoulder, past the hardware ringing his neck, and down to his belly. “Didn’t fight this very hard,” Bucky had murmured, smiling at the feel of two paws clenching in his hair.
> 
> “I resisted.”
> 
> “For the duration of one elevator ride.”
> 
> “Yeah, well. You were playing with fire and--” Rocket’s groan had coaxed an answering rumble from Bucky as he’d nudged Rocket’s thigh wider with his chin. “--and you didn’t even know it so--WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING.”
> 
> “Shhh,” Bucky had scolded on a bubble of laughter. “I’m showing you something you definitely don’t know.”
> 
> “Oh? Ooh… oh. What’s, uh, what’s that?”
> 
> In answer to Rocket’s dazed question, Bucky had answered, “What my tongue feels like.”
> 
> (God. Oh, God. Had that only been four or five nights ago? Just before Rocket had gotten them a room at the science station and…)
> 
> “What’s the verdict?” Bucky had asked an ego-boostingly short amount of time later, Rocket’s tangy flavor on his tongue and a smear of slick growing sticky on his tingling lips. _Not bad for a first attempt,_ Bucky had mused. He hadn’t dared any depth at all (because Bucky’d been pretty sure he would have choked to death if he’d tried it), but between his tongue and lips and hand -- leisurely licks, sucking kisses, and a massage that had mimicked the rolling ocean tide -- Rocket had seemed to enjoy it. A lot.
> 
> “Lethal,” Rocket had wheezed out, his heart pounding -- literally _pounding_ \-- against the tips of Bucky’s prosthetic fingers. “Oh, God that’s lethal.”
> 
> And Bucky had promised, “I’ll use sparingly if you promise not to die on me.”
> 
> “Ain’t gonna die on you,” Rocket had rallied, “or under you.”
> 
> Bucky had laughed. “That’s the spirit.”

The fighting spirit. Rocket had only ever asked that much from anyone. It was the least Bucky could do here, now, in his final hour.

He turned toward Hamir. His hands fisted.

Hamir stood his ground. He hadn’t moved a muscle since Bucky had first spotted him. He’d stood there and watched Bucky pummel that stupid little shit into a whimpering pile. And.

And.

Bucky didn’t feel one bit better for having done it. Because he remembered a time when he’d been the one to punch the bullies back. He’d defended those weaker and smaller than himself back in the day. God what a fool he’d been to think the world really was that simple.

He stalked toward Hamir, zeroed in and locked focus on. So what if that seesaw tilted too far -- or all the Goddamn way -- toward the Winter Soldier. So what.

Bucky stomped and climbed over the debris, his footsteps pounding like his heart. His chest creaked and he idly wondered if it would burst open from the pressure before he managed to swing his first punch.

It didn’t. But neither did Bucky lead with a fist.

Without slowing his pace, he sent a kick into Hamir’s middle (and vaguely recalled launching Sam Wilson over the side of a helicarrier with the same move).

Hamir blocked it with a fiery shield.

A spinning roundhouse kick to the sorcerer’s head.

Another shield.

And then Bucky stopped thinking. Stopped planning.

No strategy, no tricks, just pure fury and power and endless strikes. Fists. Elbows. Feet and knees and spinning, twisting, stalking, _raging_ against someone who had failed Rocket. Someone who hadn’t offered an ounce of fighting spirit. Not that Bucky had seen, and he’d seen enough.

Hamir shifted -- left, right, back, back -- and Bucky pressed on, doubled his efforts. If this was all he was good for anymore, then he’d give it all.

There was nothing worse than waking up alone the morning after.

> “Wake me up before you jump ship,” Bucky had wearily requested, lounging in the doorway of Rocket’s lab where his lover was up to his bushy eyebrows in something that looked like it was well on its way to being hella hardcore. The sounds of tinkering had led Bucky here after he’d opened his eyes to solitude: the racket of machinery beating in counterpoint to the instantaneous terror and the cloying doubt that Bucky had dreamed it all, that he was still stuck in a cryo-pod in Siberia.
> 
> But it had been Rocket’s shed hairs on the side of the bed nearest the wall that had calmed Bucky’s racing pulse. They hadn’t done much for his pounding head or sticky tongue, but he’d known for certain and for sure that it hadn’t all been a dream. Not a dream…

Except that it had been. It had been. And now Bucky was woken.

A weapon of opportunity in his grasp -- a gold-covered spire. Perhaps a lightning rod. It whooshed, hissed and sparked against Hamir’s defense, spun away and clattered in the distance. Bucky was breathing hard, but he had more to give. More to bleed.

The air -- so thin. Every breath burned his chest from the inside. The distant sunlight stung his eyes and the surface of Luchae was so, so far below. If the island fell out of the sky now, nothing standing on its surface would survive. Not even the Winter Soldier.

Grinning, Bucky leaped at Hamir, who ducked--

Bucky rolled over his back, like water beading off of duck feathers--

He tumbled, crashed and rolled in the pumice stone. His hips ached and his knees shrieked and his face was bleeding--a cut to his jaw. His right hand, scraped raw. But he could fight. He could still fight.

He pushed himself upright, blinked the sweaty strands of hair from his eyes, and stared as Hamir crouched over the cringing form of the young sorcerer, a fist pressed to the boy’s head. And then he jerked his arm back, clutching something in his straining fist that Bucky couldn’t make out.

“No,” the idiot child moaned. “My power…!”

Hamir said nothing. He punched his right first forward, rotated his arm in a wide circle and Bucky gasped at the gateway that opened up. It had to be a gateway because those mountains in the distance. Those jagged, snowy peaks--

_The Himalayas._

And then Hamir pulled the portal over both himself and his prisoner.

Both disappeared.

So did whatever force had been propelling the Luchaenian island higher and higher.

A moment of breathless--weightless--directionless zero gravity.

Bucky lunged for a battered foundation stone, drove the fingers of his left hand deep-deep-deep into the rock and--

Free fall.

Tears streamed from Bucky’s eyes, but he kept them open. Focused on the wristwatch Rocket had given him.

_All we need is time._

Their time was up.

> “That’s a bad idea,” Rocket had argued when Bucky had shared a thought that Quill had mentioned in passing.
> 
> “It sounds crazy, I know--”
> 
> “It sounds like a suicide switch, that’s what it sounds like.”
> 
> “But if I can activate myself--”
> 
> “There’s no guarantee it’ll cancel out anything. An’ I ain’t risking you.”

They were both past taking risks now and if this was the end, then Bucky wanted to go down on top because screw Hydra. He’d ride their flayed and blistered asses all the way to Hell.

Bucky drew in a calming breath and muttered the first Russian word: **_**“Longing…”**_**

He waited for a flash, a skip in his heartbeat, the sharp agony of a lightning strike.

Nothing happened.

The wind whipped Bucky’s hair against his teeth as he said the next: **_**“Rusted.”**_**

And the third: ** _ **“Seventeen.”**_**

Pressure. The thickening air crowded inside his ears, popping in his sinuses. Altitude change. That was all.

**_**“Daybreak.”** _ **

A needle prodded his brain. Right between the eyes. A lobotomy of weightlessness. Unrelated to the activation phrase.

**_**“Furnace--”** _ **

He gasped as _holy shit_ that hurt _a_ _lot_ _,_ like flashbulbs exploding inside his eye sockets. But he could still see. The Luchaenian ocean was rushing up, up, up-up- _up!_

**_**“Nine!”** _ **

A scream squeezed out past his gritted teeth. An invisible hand wrapped around his throat. Squeezing. Choking. He clawed at his own neck with his right hand, but felt nothing. He forced out a cough:

**_**“Benign.”** _ **

Barely a squeak of sound, but it echoed in his head, rushed and swirled and--

Was the island slowing? No, couldn’t be.

Except. It was.

Hamir was back. Arms outstretched and lips moving. Tendrils of shimmering power were weaving over the whole of the island. The drone of his voice uttering words Bucky couldn’t understand. Bucky squeezed his eyes shut because he was hallucinating. Had to be.

But he couldn’t convince himself that the smart tap on his shoulder was all in his head. He blinked his eyes open. Hamir was kneeling in front of him, holding out his hand to Bucky. A spinning vortex at his back and, through that--good God what the hell was going on here?--he could see Rocket. Alive. Rocket and Quill and Mantis and there was Kraglin, trembling like he’d just survived a spacewalk with a moon-blasting cannon strapped to his chest. And Drumm. Drumm was sitting in the cockpit of the _Milano,_ too, and how could that be? How could Hamir be here? How could they step from one space into another? And--

“I’ve got a signal!” Rocket exclaimed from the other side of the portal. “Bucky! You reading me, bright eyes?”

A tinny version of Rocket’s voice blasted from Bucky’s wristwatch on a half-second delay and, through the portal, Rocket jerked, twisted around in his harness and shouted, “BUCKY COME THROUGH COME ON!”

 ** _ **“Homecoming,”**_** he murmured to Rocket, who was calling him to the other side.

“NO! NO DON’T YOU FRICKIN’ SAY IT JUST TAKE HAMIR’S HAND!”

Dizzy. Spinning. A hot jet gushed from his nose and over his lips. It tasted like blood.

Hamir’s hand in front of Bucky’s face. Palm up, fingers splayed. It shook at him, urging him to grab on. He pawed toward it because Rocket. Rocket was just there on the other side--

His swipe missed, but Hamir grabbed his wrist, the portal spun toward both of them--

But Bucky’s left hand, fingers clenched deep in mortar--

Hamir pulled, and Bucky didn’t budge.

Air whooshed in Bucky’s ears. His eyes rolled up toward the sky.

A spine-snapping jolt. The island cracked. Fractured. Hamir’s grasp was torn away and Bucky’s left arm nearly wrenched from its moorings.

Foam and sea mist. Splashes. Gargling. Rock grinding-cracking-crumbling. Bobbing, bumping, floating up as water closed over Bucky. Hands empty, he sank, staring up at the dappled sunlight and shifting shadows above. A thin trail of dark red snaked up in his wake.

_What happened?_

_Rocket?_

The wristwatch winked at Bucky and then the murky depths converged and swallowed him up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “a good long look at his life” -- this refers to Bucky’s thoughts near the end of Chapter 3 of the previous fic: “The End of the Line”
> 
> I didn’t plan to write a flashback to sexytimes here and I almost deleted that whole thing because I thought this particular development in their relationship would throw the first couple of chapters out of whack… but on reflection, I don’t think that’s the case. In fact, I think Rocket is EXTRA motivated at the beginning of this fic to have his way with Bucky after Bucky kinda-sorta goes down on Rocket. (Rocket is all about payback.)


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rocket POV
> 
> NOTES: more flashbacks

Rocket had long ago accepted the one immutable fact of life: nobody lived forever. Although, most people managed to convince themselves otherwise. How else would those Xandarian yuppies make it through one existence-wasting day after another?

Still. Death was inevitable.

Rocket just really hoped that the bastard wouldn’t be paying them a visit today.

“Dude,” Quill bitched at Kraglin as the _Milano’s_ engines roared, zooming them away from the sea-battered island and toward the moon that was about to pulverize it. “What you’ve been up to here -- this is so against the Ravager Code, Krag. We don’t deal in lives. That’s the rule. There’s no corner of the galaxy you can hide in, no rock you can crawl under where Ogord won’t find you.”

“Ya think I wanted this, Quill? That little magician came up with this all on his own. Announced it to the whole damn crew. If I’d tried to argue against it, I’d be a space bug on the _Milano’s_ windshield right now.”

Rocket had just been forced to watch his lover -- his mate -- abandon ship, race into a crumbling city, and throw himself upon the mercy of fate. Rocket was in no frickin’ mood for woe-is-me. “Maybe that’s what you deserve!”

Either not hearing or (more likely) electing to ignore Rocket’s assessment, Quill lectured on, “Instead, you go ahead and repeat the same stupid mistake that got Yondu ousted. Man, he would not want this for you.”

Kraglin shifted. “Don’ think he’d want me dead, neither.”

“So work with us. We’re trying to help you make it right.”

Rocket grinned viciously. “Yeah, and that’s the part I’m going to enjoy.”

Quill squeaked at him in a stage whisper, “Will you stop with the threats already? We gotta get this done. Bucky will be fine.”

 _Like hell you know that,_ Rocket didn’t say because Quill was right about the first part: they had to get this done. It was the only chance Bucky had now because the _Quadrant_ was not designed to land on planetary bodies and the ocean waves had already been getting too much for the _Milano_ to handle. And Rocket highly doubted that the _Notorious_ would be volunteering for a rescue mission.

_Frickin’ space pirates._

Rocket set the _Milano’s_ course and reached for his safety harness. “You got this?” he checked with Quill, who nodded.

“Yeah. Yeah, I got it.”

Rocket jumped over the arm of his chair and marched up to Kraglin. “Up an’ at ‘em.”

“What?”

“You’ve just been promoted,” Rocket announced. “The more cooperation I get from you, the more inclined I’ll be to keep you alive.” He glanced at his wristwatch. “Starting NOW.”

“BE CAREFUL!” Mantis called out, not daring to look beyond the navigator’s screen that she’d just activated.

Kraglin wrestled past his harness and pushed himself out of the navigator’s seat. Rocket was already hurrying down the ladder into the hold. He’d tucked the Hadron Enforcer into a tight space before they’d launched from the _Quadrant,_ and now all he had to do was open the box and pull it out.

 _And Quill thinks boxes are useless,_ Rocket thought with a sneer.

At the sound of Kraglin’s footsteps, Rocket pointed him toward the galley table. “Stand next to that and keep your mouth shut.”

Kraglin obeyed and Rocket climbed up onto the table. There was a “no feet on the surfaces we eat off of” rule, but under the circumstances, Rocket figured it could be ignored.

“Wha’do I gotta do?”

“What I tell you to,” Rocket answered, buckling Kraglin into the harness and adjusting the braces. He’d set them for Drax’s bulk automatically, but of course with Drax playing guard on the _Quadrant,_ adjustments would be necessary. Even if Bucky had been the one doing this.

Bucky. Oh, God. Rocket could not think about him right now. But he couldn’t NOT think about him right now. Bucky.

“We’re gonna need to get off at least two shots,” Rocket snarled, speaking over his own spiking pulse. “Don’t worry about aiming. I’ve got that covered. All you gotta do is brace yourself when I tell you to and not get blown into space. And don’t touch the power cable.”

“Sounds easy,” Kraglin shakily rallied.

Rocket didn’t bother to reassure him because yes, damn it all, he wanted this jerkoff to be a little uncomfortable about this. As uncomfortable as Bucky was right now on a planet that was in the process of getting torn apart by the gravity of a falling moon. But, if Kraglin happened to be even more uncomfortable than Bucky, then yes. Rocket was good with that.

He grabbed two spacesuit discs from the rack on the wall and slapped one on his own chest. The other he pressed to the back of Kraglin’s jacket between harness straps. Then Rocket hit the lever activating the hold’s containment field.

“I suppose it’s too late for a visit to the little boys’ room,” Kraglin whimpered.

Rocket bit out, “It was too late a long ass time ago.” He keyed open the aft hatch. “Move it.”

It was something else seeing Luchae so far, far below. From this distance, Rocket couldn’t tell how tall the waves had gotten or how many island cities had been torn apart already. He could almost fool himself into believing that nothing was wrong. But. The instant he set foot on the _Milano’s_ outer hull and peered past the cockpit canopy, the gravity of the situation (aw, hell, a pun -- if Bucky had been there, he would’ve been so proud of Rocket for clocking it) was undeniable.

Rocket gestured and pointed Kraglin into position before poking through the menus on his wristwatch. Yup, he’d synched it to the Hadron Enforcer. Because having a weapon of mass destruction at his fingertips really did help Rocket sleep better at night.

No wonder he’d never had the slightest problem bunking with Bucky.

_Focus!_

Two shots. That was Rocket’s job and, if he didn’t screw it up, then all of them might just survive this. Those two shots would draw a lot of power from the _Milano,_ true, but there’d be enough left for a speedy getaway so long as Rocket didn’t have to fire a third. So, OK, this was doable. It’d come down to Quill’s piloting (which wasn’t a comforting thought) because any one of the moon’s broken bits might slam right into them, peeling Rocket and Kraglin off of the ship (if it didn’t crush the _Milano_ completely). But this was the hand they’d been dealt. And Rocket couldn’t let some moronic lunatic destroy a planet today any more than he’d been able to stand back and let Ronan wipe out Xandar.

He opened up the comms channel to include Quill and began the countdown: “Five… four… three…”

Mantis shouted, “DANIEL!”

“WAIT WAIT HOLY SHIT DRUMM IS HERE.”

Rocket jerked. “What?”

“Who’s Drumm?” Kraglin asked.

Quill was already interrogating their unexpected visitor: “HOW THE HELL DID YOU--”

“May I explain later?” Drumm calmly asked.

“Uh, yeah, I guess…”

“Rocket?” Drumm said.

“WHAT.”

“My apologies for the delay. Fire when ready. Then, cue me. I’ll do my part.”

“What part is THAT?” Quill (and, coincidentally, Rocket) wanted to know.

“The part where the _Milano_ is completely shielded from the moon’s debris.”

“You sure you can handle that?”

“I am absolutely sure. Rocket, waiting on you.”

“Then let’s do this. Here it comes, Kraglin. Don’t be a wuss.”

Before Kraglin could wimble or whine about it, Rocket hit the trigger. The blast nearly knocked Kraglin flat on his back, but Rocket’s targeting system accounted for that, keeping the weapon locked on.

“That’s one,” Rocket announced in the charged wake of the shot. His claws danced over the wristwatch screen. “Now comes two.” This time, the Hadron Enforcer didn’t shoot a cannon ball of energy. This time, it shot a tsunami. A wide-band pulse of pure force designed to crumble up the big bits into little bits and send as many bits as possible back out into space, far-far-far away from Luchae.

And it worked. The moon cracked open like an egg and then burst like a piñata.

Aw hell, yeah.

_Damn but Bucky’s missing a hell of a show._

Rocket watched as the darkness of outer space was blotted out by the expanding shock wave of dust and rock, but then--

“OH HELL NO,” Quill bleated just as Rocket ordered Kraglin to brace himself because a massive chunk of rock -- the ultra dense core of that moon -- was tumbling toward them and the planet below. Collision imminent.

“FIRING!” Rocket screamed, sending out a focused blast right to the center of that death ball.

It exploded.

But.

Bullseye or no, far too many massive projectiles were zooming right at them and now the _Milano_ was completely drained. A sitting duck.

“DRUMM!” Rocket screamed. “WHATEVER YOU’RE GONNA DO, DO IT NOW!”

“It is already done.”

Quill squawked, “DONE? WHAT’S DONE?”

Rocket roared, cringing back as one massive rock plowed aside others, falling right on them, “GET US OUTTA HERE!”

And then the mountain-sized boulder disappeared. Vanished from sight.

Mantis breathed, “Oh my goodness…”

“...what?” Rocket whimpered and Kraglin twisted around, pointing.

“There it is. That’s it, ain’t it?”

It was. Rocket gaped as the just-made meteor lurched into Luchae’s atmosphere, breaking up and scratching fiery claw marks across the sky.

“What?” Rocket repeated, aghast.

Drumm calmly explained, “I’ve enclosed the _Milano_ in a mirror dimension. Nothing we do in here affects the real world or vice versa.”

“That’s a sorcerer thing, ain’t it?” Kraglin asked.

“Yes.”

“Nifty.”

“Thank you.”

Rocket shook his head, his whole body trembling in the aftershocks of adrenaline and pure frickin’ terror, and he had to shake out his paws before attempting to key in the finicky sequence that would power down the Hadron Enforcer.

He deactivated it, canceled the screen, and--

A shrill alarm. The bio sensor. Bucky.

“Rocket?” Quill asked. “Please tell me that Hadron Enforcer’s not about to blow us all up.”

“I’ve got no reading on Bucky.”

“What?”

“Check the ship’s bio sensor, Quill, I AIN’T GOT A READING ON BUCKY.”

Drumm said, “All signals are cut off so long as we’re in a mirror dimension. I’m sure he’s fine. Master Hamir is down there with him right now.”

“As reassurances go, I’ve heard better,” Rocket bit out, stomping toward the still-open hatch instead of curling up into a ball of sobbing desperation. Rocket was getting too frickin’ old for this kind of shit.

“Yeah. Little late on the updates, pal,” Quill critiqued.

Drumm mused, “Yes, I’m sure you would have believed me if I’d attempted to explain before the fact.”

Well, OK. Maybe he had a point. Still. That didn’t mean Rocket couldn’t be pissed off about it.

Quill certainly was: “Well, I guess we’ll never know.”

It was strangely gratifying -- validating -- to hear an echo of Rocket’s own irritation in Quill’s voice. The two of them didn’t often agree, but when they did, yeah, it was on the shit that really mattered.

Rocket swung himself into the cargo hold, Kraglin bumping and windmilling awkwardly as he tried to move with the unwieldy cannon still strapped to his chest. 

To save time, Rocket grabbed onto his harness and hauled him in through the hatch. He got the _Milano_ buttoned up, their spacesuits deactivated, and the Hadron Enforcer tucked back into its box.

“Boxes are awesome,” he said just for the sake hearing a familiar voice. Even if it wasn’t the voice he was listening for. “HEY DRUMM,” Rocket belted out as he jogged toward the cockpit ladder. “HOW LONG UNTIL YOU CAN GET US BACK TO REALITY?”

“That really depends on the meteors.”

Rocket pulled himself into the cockpit and jumped into the copilot’s seat. Glared through the canopy at the rocks now spinning and rolling as far as the eye could see. “Great.”

“If someone hadn’t just tapped out the _Milano’s_ fuel cells,” Quill singsonged, “I could’ve gotten us outta here.”

Rocket didn’t even bother snarling. He was too frickin’ tired. “You saw the size of that rock. No way could we let that hit the surface. We’re talking extinction-level impact, Quill.”

And if that had slipped past their guard then what the hell had been the point of this entire operation?

Quill sighed. “Yeah.” He flicked a switch, squinted at a gauge, and said, “We’ve still got docking thrusters. Lemme see what I can do with those. Drumm?”

“I am ready.”

“You tuck us back into that mirror dimension if the proximity alarm -- or Rocket -- tells you to, got it?”

“Yes.”

Quill took the yoke and--

**_**Beep! Beep-beep!** _ **

Rocket looked down at his wristwatch. Holy shit and hell yes -- Bucky’s heartbeat was right there! “I’ve got a signal!” Switching over to comms, Rocket said, “Bucky! You reading me, bright eyes?”

_Whoosh!_

Rocket’s ears twitched at the noise. He was fully determined to ignore it except that it sounded way too much like a plasma cutter drilling into the hull for him not to look up--

_What the hell._

That was Hamir. Standing in the rubble of the Luchaenian city. And was Rocket seeing things or was the entire place suspended in air? Sinking or falling or--

Rocket was looking at a portal. A gateway through space and if Bucky -- _oh, God, Bucky just lookit you all beat to hell_ \-- could just take Hamir’s offered hand, he’d be here. Right here next to Rocket where he belonged.

Rocket roared, “BUCKY COME THROUGH COME ON!”

Bucky’s bloody lips moved. A gutteral mumble. A single word that Rocket’s ears just barely caught and every fiber of his being recognized.

**_**“Homecoming…”** _ **

The eighth word of the Winter Soldier’s activation sequence and what the hell was Bucky thinking --they’d discussed the risks and it wasn’t worth it, damn it all to frickin’ hell!

“NO! NO DON’T YOU FRICKIN’ SAY IT JUST TAKE HAMIR’S HAND!”

And then the world exploded -- the island crashed into the sea -- rock and dust and water filled the air.

Hamir was knocked backward and through the gateway. He landed in the cockpit as the _Milano’s_ proximity alarm sounded and Drumm threw both hands up, locking the _Milano_ back inside a mirror dimension as a meteor raced at and then past them. But Rocket was beyond caring about any of it. All he could deal with was the fact that Bucky had flatlined again and maybe-maybe- _maybe_ this time it was for real.

“YOU!” he ordered, pointing at Drumm. “THE _QUADRANT._ GET GROOT AND GET YOUR ASSES DOWN TO BUCKY. AND YOU--” He yelled at Hamir. “TAKE ME DOWN THERE NOW.”

Drumm nodded. He stood and held out a hand to Mantis, inviting her to join him because, honestly, there probably wasn’t much she could do here. “All I need is twenty seconds, Quill. Stay alive.”

“We’ll do our best,” Quill replied, nodding for Kraglin to sit his ass down in Rocket’s seat. Remembering Bucky’s issues with insufficient legroom, Rocket flicked the chair’s positioning lever in passing, just about running toward Hamir who was drawing a fiery ring in the air with his right hand--

Rocket leaped through the circular portal.

A sea breeze. Mist and foam and churning pumice. A sky that looked to be carbonated.

Rocket scrabbled for a stable surface on the rollicking debris, but ended up tumbling right into the water. Hamir pulled him out before his head went under and Rocket made sure to activate his spacesuit before that happened again. But Hamir seemed to have it under control now: he’d locked one of the larger boulders in position. Rocks and waves battered and pummeled at it, but it didn’t budge.

**_**Beep!** _ **

The sound of Bucky’s heartbeat yanked Rocket’s attention back to his wristwatch and he pulled up the location tracker. He pointed north. “That way.”

And one by one, Hamir steadied the remnants of the island into stepping stones. Rocket raced over to the coordinates and then glared past bobbing pumice and stared down into the blue-green sea.

“Can you clear some of this?” he asked Hamir who, with a wave of his left arm, did.

Rocket stuck his head into the water and peered into the depths. The spacesuit allowed him to breathe and it kept him dry, but it didn’t exactly improve his vision. And then a splash that Rocket felt crashing against and sliding over his spacesuit. He glanced over and there was Groot, completely submerged with only one hand anchoring him to the rock.

Rocket pointed into the depths.

Groot leaned down and twisted around, pressed his feet flat against the rock and then reached, shooting branches down toward the bottom of the sea and Rocket checked his watch again. Checked the location and gritted his teeth at the stuttering heartbeat.

_No. No, no, no!!_

“Faster, Groot!” he screamed, pointing again before he realized that Groot could neither hear nor see him, so he latched onto Groot’s nearest foot with a frantic grip and Groot’s legs stretched, sending his entire body down into the depths.

_Please. Oh, please please please--_

Rocket’s claws dug into Groot’s heel (or where one of his heels would have been) and he held on and prayed. Bucky, his mate. Groot, his best friend. Never had Rocket been so close to losing so much.

> “You’re a sore loser, y’know that?” Bucky had teased over Rocket’s toppled king. Three times they’d played chess and all three games Bucky had won. Talk about unfair.
> 
> “You’re the one who’s gonna be sore,” Rocket had promised, slamming his fist down on the button to reset the holoboard.
> 
> Bucky’s smile was a weapon in and of itself and Rocket had struggled to hold onto his ire. “C’mon, tiger. Lemme show you some moves.”
> 
> “Here’s an idea. Why don’t I show you some moves? And not the chessboard variety.”
> 
> Bucky had chided, “Quill, Gamora, Groot, and Mantis are sleeping. Drax is on duty. Without him snoring up a storm, we’ll wake the whole ship.”
> 
> “Maybe I wanna show us off.”
> 
> “Caveman.”
> 
> “I’m prepared to own it now.”
> 
> “I have no doubt.” Bucky’s voice had lowered as he’d leaned in and whispered in Rocket’s ear: “And I’ll always agree -- on two conditions.”
> 
> “Those being?”
> 
> “Wherever we are is both soundproof and secure.”
> 
> The heat from Bucky’s breath had turned Rocket’s entire body into a thrumming, vibrating wire. String theory in action. “That’s all?”
> 
> “That’s all.”
> 
> “Always?”
> 
> “Every time.”
> 
> “Then that’s what’s gonna happen.”

And it had. Oh, God it had. But not enough. Three measly hours in a hotel room. NOT ENOUGH.

 _We need more time,_ Rocket appealed to the universe, to life, to fate, to whatever the hell was out there.

_Please, we just need more time!_

And then the wooden skin under Rocket’s claws began to shift and shrink. Groot was coming up, retracting from the depths of the sea and Rocket held his breath, one paw extended into open, empty water and the other bracing himself on the rock, waiting-waiting-waiting until -- YES! -- Groot’s torso materialized from the hazy, green current. Then came his head and his outstretched arms and -- _finally!_ \-- Bucky. Bucky wrapped up in Groot’s branches and there was a sluggish heartbeat showing on Rocket’s wristwatch.

Hamir’s hands, Groot’s arms, Rocket’s claws -- together, they pulled Bucky up, laid him down on the unmoving stone. No breath. Bucky was alive but not breathing and--

Groot stabbed him with a slender finger _right--in--the--chest._

“WHAT THE HELL!” Rocket screamed, but then water was shooting up out of Bucky’s mouth and he was coughing, wheezing, BREATHING and Rocket didn’t care how it had happened. He didn’t care that thin trails of blood were eking out of Bucky’s nose and the puncture wound. He didn’t care about anything except being able to touch his mate’s battered skin and comb his wet-and-tacky, salt-tangled hair away from his face.

“I’ve got you, bright eyes. I’m here now. It’s gonna be OK.”

Groot’s shadow shifted away, no longer looming over them. Rocket was peripherally aware of Groot turning toward the sorcerer. In an oddly dry and grating tone, he said, “I am Groot.”

And then that freaky portal was sawing open and all four of them were zipped through space and abruptly deposited in the med bay of the _Quadrant._

Through the tears in Rocket’s eyes, the cramped room looked like heaven. “You’re safe now, Bucky,” he rasped as Groot scooped him up. Rocket lunged for the nearest first-aid pod and punched the door release.

It hissed open and Groot deposited Bucky within.

“I’m gonna be right here when you wake up, bright eyes. Right here. I promise.”

Bucky’s face tilted toward the sound of Rocket’s voice and then the lid was lowering and the unit was powering on and all Rocket could do was wait. So that was what he did. With both paws pressed to the fogged glass, he waited. And he vowed: never again. Never again was he gonna let anything separate them during an op. First those asshole Skrulls and now _this._ The third time was not gonna be a frickin’ charm because no way was Rocket letting this shit happen again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realize there isn’t much explanation for how the magic things work yet. Very soon, some of the basics will be discussed. Although, my understanding of the Mystic Arts may not line up precisely with Marvel Cinematic (or Comic) Universe. Just, y’know, warning you there.
> 
> Groot’s method for resuscitating Bucky is tried-and-true from the first Guardians of the Galaxy film; after the fight against Ronan, Groot pulled Drax out of the vat of fluid mined on Knowhere, stabbed him in the chest, and that got Drax breathing again.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: !!! SEXYTIMES !!!
> 
> I feel I should have a disclaimer here: the homophobia Bucky mentions in this chapter is consistent with actual law enforcement practices in the U.S. and England in the first half of the 20th century.

There was no porthole. That was the first thing Bucky realized as he drew in a deep breath. This was Wakanda then. The cryo-pod. Except… Bucky’s clothes were damp. Briny. The last time Bucky had seen the ocean had been with Steve--no. _That’s not right…_ A sea of aqua blue-green unfolded from Bucky’s memory. Small, green-skinned people and a moon blocking out the sun, the sky…

Luchae.

A soft thump on the pod. A subtle motion out of the corner of his eye. Bucky forced his eyes to focus on the figure leaning heavily against the glass from the outside. Rocket. His forehead pressed to both fists, shoulders trembling.

 _Aw, shit. No…_ Aching both inside and out, Bucky shifted. Strained past his pounding head, burning throat, and leaden body. Managed to lift his right hand, craning it up and tapping a single knuckle against the inside of the pod.

Rocket jerked to attention. Dark eyes peered over those clenched fists, pale brows arched high. A soft mist hissed into the pod; a light anesthetic that Bucky knew he could fight if he tried, but sleep really was the best medicine. Nine times out of ten. He could feel himself fading and so twisted his hand around, pressing his palm to the glass. He kept his eyes open long enough to see Rocket match and mirror the motion, his upraised fist going lax and the other paw splaying wide opposite Bucky’s fingers.

He tried to hold onto the image as he lost consciousness, tried to carry it with him, but the next thing Bucky knew, he was inhaling clean, crisp air. Time had passed -- how much Bucky didn’t know. His eyes snapped open at the sound of the pod latch releasing. The lid lifted. He sat up, feeling invigorated, and didn’t bother to battle against a smile as Rocket practically climbed into the pod with him.

“You been waiting to take a turn?”

“Do I look injured to you?”

“You look great.” Bucky tucked Rocket against his chest and murmured into the warm fur covering Rocket’s scalp. “…considering I thought I’d seen the last of you.”

“Yeah well, you almost made that happen, you dumbass. Why you such a--damn it, I oughta--oughta--damn it, Bucky. Don’t you _ever_ do that shit again.”

“There were kids in trouble.”

Rocket sighed, warbling and groaning against Bucky’s torn, stained, smelly shirt. “How’d all that work out?”

“I think everyone made it to safety.”

“Everyone except you.”

“Wasn’t room. Maybe you noticed -- I’m one of those _tall_ dark-and-handsomes?”

“Shut up. I’m talking about that activation phrase crap you tried to pull.”

Bucky froze, scoured his memory until he got to that part. The nothing-left-to-live-for part. “Oh, Jesus. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t tell Jesus you’re sorry, damn it. Tell me.”

“I’m sorry, Rocket.”

“Promise me you’re never gonna do anything like that again.”

“I promise,” Bucky vowed quietly, “that I will wait until I see a cold dead body before I consider it.”

Rocket massaged Bucky’s grungy, itchy scalp. “OK. OK.” He sighed. “Not that I blame you for thinking I was dead. I mean, for a hot second there when I lost your bio readings, I thought…” He swallowed. “And if Drumm hadn’t been right there to explain it to me, I probably would’ve lost my shit.”

“Drumm explained?”

Rocket paused, re-examining that particular moment. “Kinda?”

“Think you get him to give an encore? This is something I’d like to hear.”

“I’ll do my best to badger one outta him--”

Bucky’s stomach chose that moment to growl.

“--after you eat something and take a shower. You smell like you got spat out of a crustacean with a head cold.”

Bucky chuckled. “And you’ve already got a couple of ideas on how I’m going to make that up to you, don’t you?”

“You bet your ass, I do.” Rocket got down and hooked a paw around the back of Bucky’s knee. “C’mon. Let’s march.”

“Where to?”

“Our room.”

 _“Our_ room?”

“Yeah. Welcome to our new home.” Rocket gestured grandly to the _Quadrant._

Bucky made more of an effort to absorb the scenery. “How’d this happen?”

“Quill told Gamora this was the best way to save Kraglin’s idiot ass from being ousted by the Ravagers. If anyone asks about Luchae, they’ll be pointed in Quill’s direction. Since he’s officially the captain of the _Quadrant.”_

“And you’re not buying it.”

“Damn right I ain’t. This was Quill swindling the swindler. It ain’t made of gold, but we were definitely due for a roomier ship.”

Bucky agreed. He agreed even more when Rocket punched in the access code to a seemingly random door and Bucky found himself in a space that was easily as large as the _Milano’s_ galley. There was a small sitting area and, beyond that, a screen. Bucky could see the foot of a large bed poking out just beyond it.

Rocket gestured to a doorway on the left. “Got me a workroom through there and…” He urged Bucky toward the bed. Just past the screen, there was a second door on the left. “Bathroom.”

As Rocket reached for the handle, Bucky took stock of the fact that his backpack was sitting on the crisply made bed. It was bulging with Bucky’s clothes and beside it were his knives. The ones he’d had to leave behind in the _Milano’s_ cockpit when they’d disembarked at Luchae.

“You’ve moved me in. Where’s your stuff?”

“Technically, Mantis moved us in. I was a little busy supervising your first-aid pod.” Opening the bathroom door, Rocket pointed back across the way to the dresser and answered Bucky’s original question: “Bottom two drawers. Hands off.”

“Copy that.”

“I’m gonna go hunt us up something edible. You better be smelling better by the time I get back.”

“Or you could stay and supervise.” Bucky knelt and hooked a finger around the strap of Rocket’s overalls. He waggled his brows.

Rocket flatly refused, “No way.”

“Why not?” They’d never showered together and they had a new lease on life. Seemed like a good way to celebrate it.

“When you’re soaked, you look hot. When I’m soaked, I just look ridiculous.”

“I’ll still respect you in the morning.”

“But I won’t respect me.” And on that note, Rocket stomped toward the edge of the screen.

“Hey,” Bucky called softly, pausing Rocket. “Thank you for saving my life.”

Rocket’s eyes closed and his head bowed. To the floor he murmured, “Don’t thank me for doin’ what I gotta do.” He looked up and into Bucky’s eyes. “Just don’t make me do it again.”

Bucky nodded and Rocket left, the door sliding shut behind him.

Bucky stripped out of his dusty, salt-crusted, torn-up clothes. He dumped whatever wasn’t salvageable into the disposal and the rest into a sealed container to be laundered later.

He went through the motions of washing up on autopilot because it was a hell of a thing to realize that Rocket didn’t want to lord this over Bucky. (He certainly would have crowed about it if it had been Quill in need of rescuing.) Rocket simply wanted -- _needed_ \-- Bucky to be safe. And it was Bucky’s responsibility to see that he was. It shouldn’t have shocked him that Rocket needed this, needed Bucky to make his own safety a top priority, but maybe what shocked Bucky more was seeing Rocket accept it. Without bluster or complaints.

Well, it had been a hell of a day. And Rocket hadn’t gotten a boost from a first-aid pod to get him through it.

Bucky was just stepping out of the shower when the front door slid open. “I got blue protein and orange protein!” Rocket called by way of greeting.

“Orange,” Bucky chose, knowing he did not need the caffeine that came with the blue ones. They slurped down their protein shakes while Bucky lounged back on the bed and Rocket combed through his damp hair one-handed.

“I used to have short hair, you know,” Bucky said into the too-quiet moment.

“Whatever for?”

“It was the style.”

“Sounds about as stupid as Xandarian fashion.” There was a pause and then Rocket blurted, “How come you never, um--I’m the only male you’ve been with.”

A not-question that was very much a question. Bucky said, “You remember me saying I didn’t know any better? That’s the truth.”

“I don’t get it.”

“When I was growing up, it was always -- everyone, everywhere -- a man and a woman. People got arrested for doing it different.”

“Arrested. You are joking.”

Bucky shook his head.

“Shit, that’s messed up.” Rocket squinted. “That why you didn’t want me to go back to Terra with you?”

“That,” Bucky gladly admitted, “and the fact that plenty of science types wouldn’t have left you alone.”

Rocket froze and Bucky instantly felt ashamed. The biggest reason of all just barely fit behind those two others: Rocket would have stood with Bucky against the task force sent out to bring down the Winter Soldier. He would have stuck to Bucky’s side, would have returned fire, would have fought back… probably to the death.

“We ain’t ever going to Terra,” Rocket announced.

Bucky tilted his chin down and smiled. “Not without that Hadron Enforcer.” Rocket snorted and Bucky continued, “It’s not so bad in some places.”

“Those places would be cool with us being together?”

Bucky recalled both Drumm’s and Hamir’s reaction to learning Bucky and Rocket were a couple. “Probably not.”

“Then it ain’t a retirement option.”

Bucky didn’t say that neither one of them would probably ever retire. The quiet life would bore Rocket blind, and Bucky wasn’t sure what he’d do with himself if he wasn’t out here looking for the next fight. The next good cause. He didn’t think he’d be able to balance the scales just by growing vegetables in his backyard. Being up to his elbows in dirt all day long wouldn’t bury the guilt. But being a champion for the galaxy? Yeah, maybe Bucky had a shot at burning at least some of the bad away.

Rocket needed a shower and, immediately following the use of a blow drier, a nap. Bucky lay down with him on their new bed. It felt strange. Not like Bucky’s bunk or either of the springy hotel mattresses they’d tried.

“Where is everybody?” Bucky finally asked just as Rocket got comfortable all cozied up with Bucky’s prosthetic arm.

Rocket yawned. “Waiting on us.”

Bucky grinned and let Rocket sleep. Bucky had been raised to put others first, to be considerate and to mind his manners. It could be argued that Rocket was a bad influence on him, but it was their family of misfits that were the real enablers. Bucky drifted, listening for a knock on the door that never came because Drax and Quill, Manits and Gamora (and Groot most of all) were looking out for Bucky and Rocket.

A little over an hour later, Bucky roused to the feel of fur shifting against both his jaw and his Rocket-made left arm. He opened his eyes to find Rocket watching him right back.

For a moment, neither of them moved. Then, Bucky lifted his right hand from where it had spanned Rocket’s waist, and began grooming the sleep-mused pelt of his cheek. Rocket scooted closer. Pressed their brows together. Trailed a paw down Bucky’s neck, bumped their noses affectionately, and then rubbed his whiskers and lips against Bucky’s.

Bucky didn’t ask if they had time for this. They’d almost been out of time at least once today. So now, they were making time.

A claw tugged at Bucky’s lower lip, rolling it into a pout and Bucky was already moaning even before Rocket’s sharp teeth latched on. A brief sting that sent Bucky’s galloping pulse into high gear. A slow, rough lick from Rocket’s hot tongue and Bucky forgot how to think.

His fingers burrowed into Rocket’s fur, urging him on.

“Bucky?” he checked.

“Whatever you want,” he answered and hell yes he meant it. Loosened a moan into Rocket’s ear as Rocket scrunched Bucky’s shirt up his chest. Bucky blindly massaged Rocket’s ears and teased his spine as Rocket softly scratched and harshly licked at Bucky’s nipples, rocking his lithe hips against the firming bulge in Bucky’s pants. “Whatever you want,” Bucky repeated as Rocket worked him hotter.

“Wanna take care of you, bright eyes.”

 _Oh God, yes._ Bucky wanted that. He yanked his shirt off and tossed it aside.

“Wanna mark you.”

 _Jesus. Please._ He rolled his hips into the pop of his trouser button and the grit of the zipper beneath Rocket’s paws.

“Wanna be all over you.”

 _Oh, hnng. Yes. Yes, yes, yes,_ but Bucky had to check: “Door locked?”

“Room secure.”

“Anyone gonna hear us?”

“Just you and me.”

Bucky leaned up, cupped Rocket’s face and guided their lips together for a whiskery nuzzle. “I’m at your mercy.”

Rocket whined, growled, gritted out, “Lucky for you, I know what my mate likes.”

After only a few short weeks of lovemaking, Bucky couldn’t deny that that was true. He gasped -- mind blanking as Rocket rubbed a paw over his trapped length. “Yeah. Lucky me.”

And he was. So lucky. With Rocket at the helm, Bucky felt safe. Treasured.

From the tug on his trousers to the rush of mindless heat. The careful way Rocket caressed without tickling him. The scratch and friction as Rocket’s splayed hands mapped his neck and arms, chest and belly, thighs and -- _Jesus God_ \-- gently massaged Bucky’s heavy cock. But then -- _HOLY HELL --_ Rocket was nosing right between his legs and that hot, rough tongue was mapping his throbbing, aching balls and setting off missiles of heat that roared up into his core, raced through his humming veins, and zipped over electrified skin.

“Hnn, Rocket. Ooh, damn it damn that’s--oh my God… good so good, tiger. You’re--hmmm, please just ah-hah--” Bucky struggled to keep his hips still, his thighs from opening wider, but it was a losing battle because _oh God in Heaven_ this was deliriously good. Rocket’s paws scraped teasing furrows along the inside of Bucky’s thighs as he licked and lapped until Bucky’s toes curled and--

“Slick up, bright eyes,” Rocket urged, pausing just long enough to nudge the lotion into range of Bucky’s white-knuckled grasp on the bed covers. “Gimme what I want.”

With trembling fingers and panting breaths, he did because this wasn’t about obeying commands. This was about feeling better than he ever had in his life. He trusted his lover, someone who had never betrayed him, someone who would never not fight for him, someone who would never give up on him, never place him second or abandon him.

“My mate,” Bucky rasped, curling his fingers around his cock. Rocket shivered and Bucky felt it from the claws on his skin to the tail twitching and curling against his shin.

Bucky levered himself up on his left elbow and said, “Show’s starting, tiger. Open your eyes.”

From between Bucky’s spread legs, that was what Rocket did. He watched as Bucky’s fist moved down _slow,_ up with a slight twist, down again even slower--

Rocket’s pink tongue emerged. licking a long, hot stripe of friction that streaked through his entire body. Bucky cursed. He was helpless to keep from answering Rocket’s increasingly frantic movements with a faster pace until Rocket was panting hard, pressing Bucky’s thighs wide with hot, tense hands, nuzzling and licking. Bucky mewled and moaned as tightly clenched fangs skimmed over his skin--

He came.

Immolated.

The heat. Bucky would never get used to the heat of it. The perfect white light. The total eclipsing surrender. The certainty that Rocket had him, so Bucky could let go.

And he did. He gave himself to it, to Rocket, who caught him. Unerringly.

Bucky collapsed back against the pillows, gasping and dizzy -- world spinning and sparks crackling under his skin. He heard Rocket’s voice, a whisper telling him how good that was. How badly it made him want more. How much he needed Bucky now _right now, now, now._

He was blearily aware of small hands wrapping Bucky’s slick fingers over Rocket’s hard cock. So hard. And swollen up. Ready to paint Bucky all over.

“You ready for me?” Rocket asked, rocking his hips in Bucky’s grasp, and Bucky nodded.

“Uh-hm.” He opened his eyes. Licked his lips. Rocket was bracing himself on Bucky’s hips, thrusting, thrusting, thrusting in a lazy rhythm that made Bucky groan with impatience and laugh with delight. “Really?” he challenged. “You’re in no hurry at all?”

“Can’t wait,” Rocket bit out. “But you’re gonna see this. Every second of it.”

“My eyes are peeled.”

And with that promise, Rocket sped up. Bucky’s release slid them together again and again, over and over -- the slick sounds of slippery skin -- until Rocket’s gaze went soft and unfocused. His breathing hitched, snagging on the sensation building in his nubile body.

God Bucky loved being able to do this to Rocket. Loved that he could do it. Loved that Rocket wanted it. Loved Rocket. “That’s it, tiger. C’mon, Rocket. Give it to me. Wanna feel you now. Everywhere.”

Rocket whined, jaw loosening and spine bowing and--yes.

Bucky groaned at the feel of that hot slick shooting over his thickening cock and quivering belly. This time was no different from the others so he knew he wasn’t imagining it: Rocket’s come really did make him tingle with heat and arousal and pure delicious goodness. God--

“You feel incredible,” he gasped and Rocket mewled, rolling his hips against Bucky’s sensitive balls and slippery cock and Bucky rocked his hips, opening his sore thighs even wider, drowning in the brush of fur against skin made sensitive from teasing claw scratches. “So good, tiger. ‘Sall I want--give it to me. Rocket…”

“Gimme a hand,” Rocket choked out, fumbling for Bucky’s left and Bucky slid his palm against Rocket’s side, freeing up both of Rocket’s hot paws. Those small hands skimmed down Bucky’s torso and through the even hotter ejaculate drenching his skin.

Bucky held his breath, waiting for it, and then those slicked-up palms shot up his chest, over his nipples, reached all the way up to his collar bone and Bucky was arching against the bed now, strung out and every muscle flexed taut. Pure fire that faded to a warm shimmer under his wet skin, and as he was slowly-so-slowly lowered from the rack, Rocket stroked again, stoking the coals into flames, and Bucky cried out hoarsely, incoherent because _do it again do it again do it again--_

Rocket did. Rubbing his hips between Bucky’s thighs and still coming hot and steady upon Bucky’s belly, igniting his skin in merciless sweeps of his small, capable paws until Bucky’s breath was whistling through his dry throat and his jaw ached and his whimpers were little more than crackling exhalations.

“This--oh God,” Bucky babbled on a soundless rasp, “what you do to me, Rocket, oh GOD--”

Another pass and nothing had ever felt this intensely good. His scalp prickled. His toes tingled. And everywhere in between was Rocket and _so good oh God so GOOD._

And then. And then and then and then. Rocket’s paws were curling around Bucky’s hard cock in a slippery, two-handed grip. Rubbing. Up and down and Rocket’s come was seeping into Bucky’s steaming skin and molten core and his hips were still rolling, rocking, and--

A thin wail. An inferno. Bucky’s skin flipping inside out and total existence.

He came yet again, launched, soared through star bursts of white light.

Forever.

And ever.

And then, with a single breath, he was born anew. Sunken into the mattress.

Bucky managed to fill his lungs a second time and he became aware of his dry throat and thrumming skin.

Another breath woke him to his own zipping pulse and tingling fingertips.

Another. His lover’s panting breaths and exhausted sprawl.

And another. The feel of fur and slick and cooling sweat.

Bucky sucked up a few drops of spit from somewhere and swallowed. “Wasn’t so sure about the bed,” he croaked, “but I think it’ll do.”

Rocket snorted out a laugh. “Only because I’m in it.”

“Yes,” Bucky completely agreed.

“And I’m gonna be staying in it. Forever if I gotta.” Rocket inhaled slow and deep. “Keepin’ you from stripping the bed this time. God this is good.”

Bucky chuckled, rubbed Rocket’s ears, and so what if Rocket wanted to preserve the bed covers. It was weird, but it was fine. More than fine. They had more than enough storage space now.


	18. Chapter 18

The _Quadrant_ was quite a bit roomier than the _Milano._ Bucky hadn’t been able to truly appreciate the difference many weeks ago when he’d woken up in a cage in the cargo hold, wondering what the hell he’d missed after his last moments of consciousness in Wakanda.

But now, as Rocket directed them toward the galley, Bucky was both elated and dismayed at the prospect of more elbow room. Bumping into everyone (literally) on a daily (if not hourly) basis had eventually come to be soothing. Each moment of contact adding a drop to a bone-dry well that had once brimmed with back slaps between himself an Steve, noogies and play wrestling with his younger siblings, hugs from his mother, pats on the shoulder from his father, and slender hands tucked into his elbows by pretty girls. Touch. He’d taken it for granted nearly all his life until it had been weaponized -- forced on him -- until he’d been strapped down and experimented on. Until he’d found himself half-sedated and muzzily staring in horrible fascination at the buzzing saw that had taken the remains of his left arm and implanted the hardware for the new. Those nightmares were never going to go away completely.

Although, Rocket had come up with some pretty inventive ways to distract him, exhaust him, and send him back to sleep.

“What’re you smiling about?” Rocket asked, tapping his claws against the back of Bucky’s thigh.

“I’m really looking forward to seeing this galley you promised me. Especially if it’s got java.”

“Y’should’ve picked the blue one.”

But Rocket had clearly needed the boost more. Bucky shrugged. “Next time, we can arm wrestle for it.”

Rocket snorted, all pompous bluster. Bucky’s grin widened, anticipating the gauntlet being thrown down--

“--AND THAT’S WHY Y’ALL OUGHTA BE GLAD WE’RE RID ‘O THAT SCHEMIN’ SORCERER,” Kraglin preached, his words growing louder and clearer as they neared a junction in the corridors. “THAT THERE PLANET HAD NUTHIN’ BUT THIS FOOL’S GOLD. AN’ HE WAS GONNA DO US IN AFORE WE FOUND OUT ‘BOUT HIS MISTAKE.”

Rocket rolled his eyes. “Aw, cripes. You’d have to be a brain dead idiot to buy that crap.”

But from the chorus of somber mutterings Bucky was hearing, Kraglin was selling it. To pretty much everyone.

“BUT WHAT ABOUT THE _QUADRANT?_ YOU AIN’T LETTING THAT STAR-LORD ASSHOLE TAKE IT.”

“THAT’S EXACTLY WHAT WE’RE GONNA DO. WE KEEP THIS SHIP, IT PUTS US RIGHT HERE. AN’ I DUNNO ‘BOUT Y’ALL, BUT I WANNA KEEP MY RAVAGER COLORS.”

Now standing just outside the open bay door, Bucky paused, hesitant about striding past and possibly causing an interruption. Rocket tugged on his leg, but Bucky wouldn’t budge. “Let him have his moment.”

“Gimme one good reason,” Rocket whispered back.

“Because he might just take all these yahoos with him when he leaves.”

“Oh. Good point.”

Kraglin declared, “STAR-LORD’S DONE US A SOLID AND SAVED OUR REPUTATIONS. WE GOT US THREE SHIPS -- THE _NOTORIOUS,_ THE _ROOK,_ AN’ THE _ATLAS._ AIN’T GONNA TAKE US LONG TO GET MORE. ‘SPECIALLY IF WE GET A MOVE ON.”

Nobody objected.

“LET’S LAUNCH!” Captain Kraglin ordered and his men leaped into action.

“Crap,” Rocket grouched. “Look, the galley’s just over there.” He pointed toward the opposite wall. “Up around the corner. You go on ahead. I gotta make sure these bozos keep their sticky fingers to themselves.”

“Want backup?”

Rocket shook his wristwatch. “I’ll call ya if I need ya.”

Which meant Bucky was in charge of getting them something to eat that required actual mastication. 

_Copy that._

He shouldered his way around the archway and discovered Daniel Drumm standing at the counter, space java fixings carefully arranged around a pair of empty mugs.

“Hanging around for your handkerchief?” Bucky needled. “It’s slated to go in the wash.”

Drumm smiled as he answered, “Don’t concern yourself. I’ve spares.”

Bucky was tempted to turn on his heel and leave, business concluded, because this right here was the opportunity Bucky really hadn’t wanted to give the man. He could still see plenty of questions dancing in Drumm’s eyes, but Drumm had answers to several of Bucky’s questions. So, OK. Time to ante up.

He didn’t retreat; he started rummaging in the pantry for edibles as Drumm precisely measured out the java and, for a few minutes, they focused on their respective tasks in silence. But then, as Bucky was peeling the ripe yaro root he’d found, Drumm said, “It is a conundrum.”

Bucky accepted the overture with reluctance, “What’s that?”

“You must be the most recent member of the crew.”

Bucky looked at Drumm, neither confirming nor denying the assumption.

The man explained, “You do not feature prominently in the majority of the exploits Drax and Mantis have shared.”

Bucky shrugged. “Maybe I prefer to stay on the ship.”

“Without your ‘mate?’” Drumm checked. “Or do I misunderstand?”

“You heard right.”

“In that case, you _are_ a recent addition to the crew. Or you were once genuinely ambivalent toward Rocket’s safety.”

Well and truly backed into a corner, Bucky retorted, “Why the curiosity?”

Drumm’s brows arched. “Would you not be curious in my place? I understand that Rocket is no raccoon despite the, ah…”

“Strong physical resemblance?” Bucky supplied.

“Yes. Thank you. But still, how does a man become the mate of someone like Rocket?”

“There’s no one like Rocket,” Bucky replied and therein lay the truth: Bucky had been betrayed by his own species too egregiously to ever wholly trust one of them (or anyone who resembled them) the way he could trust Rocket, who was other, unknown, and therefore innocent in a way that humanity never would be in Bucky’s eyes.

Bucky had tried to explain it to Rocket once, who had looked vaguely offended.

_“That’s it? You like me ‘cause I’m short and furry and not a humie?”_

_“Well,”_ Bucky had teased, _“those big, brown eyes of yours don’t hurt, either.”_

And then he’d laughed because Rocket honestly hadn’t known what to do with a compliment like that. So Bucky had endeavored to show him. In the process, he’d decided that demonstrations (rather than explanations) were probably the way to go, at least as far as mutual enjoyment was concerned.

“Rocket is unique,” Drumm agreed, his gaze flicking toward Bucky’s left arm, “and you are no ordinary man.”

Bucky huffed. “Don’t flirt with a guy who’s off the market. I’ve already turned you down once.”

“I heard no refusal. You prevaricated.”

“Pushy. That’s just bad manners.”

Drumm chuckled. “I apologize.” Sobering, Drumm said, “The conundrum -- I merely wondered why Mantis’ questions about Earth seem endless. There must be a reason you do not speak of your home.”

“The _Milano_ is my home,” Bucky told him and decided it was time for a little tit for tat. “Rocket said you explained why he lost contact with me. My bio readings.”

“Ah, yes. For that misunderstanding Master Hamir and I are truly sorry. We weren’t aware that you monitored one another.”

Or that Bucky and Rocket so heavily depended on that tether.

Drumm said, “I told you that I would protect the _Milano.”_

Bucky recalled the promise.

“In order to do that,” Drumm continued, “I had to enclose the ship in what’s called a mirror dimension. From our perspective, we could see what was going on around us, but could not affect it. From your perspective, the ship had disappeared entirely.”

“No communications,” Bucky added. “A mirror dimension -- that was how you two seemed to vanish from the cockpit before we landed.”

Drumm nodded.

“Were you there the whole time?”

“No. Master Hamir and I were able to conduct our search using astral projection.”

“That’s probably not as fun as it sounds.”

Drumm shrugged. “What is.”

Fair point -- truly fun things did not need the hype of a flashy name.

Bucky glanced toward the cups of java and, plucking up a spice container, held it out to Drumm and said, “Sprinkle a little of this on one of those.”

“Why would I do that?”

“That’s how Mantis takes her java.”

“Perhaps I have prepared a cup for Master Hamir.”

“He prefers tea.”

Setting the canister down, Drumm paused. “You still have not given your answer. James Barnes, there is much you could gain from training at Kamar-Taj.”

“And what does Rocket get out of it?”

“With but a little patience, your rewards will also be his.”

“You’re going to have be a little more specific.”

“We can show you how to truly master your own mind. Provide daily training. After you gain proficiency, you’ll be able to come and go as you please. Train when time and circumstances permit.”

“Is that what you did?”

“No. I devoted myself.”

And once Bucky crossed the threshold at Kamar-Taj, that was clearly what Drumm was hoping Bucky would choose to do, too. “Why me? What do you want?”

“As Captain Quill pointed out, outer space is very large. With threats on a scale to match. Having a sorcerer out here -- eyes and ears and capable hands -- would be a boon.”

“Even Groot knows how email works.”

“And we would be grateful for any forewarning given, but email, phone calls, and the like -- it takes time.”

“Sorcerers don’t like to wait.”

“We rarely have to.”

Bucky smirked, imagining the frustration both Drumm and Hamir had endured while they’d waited for the promised help to arrive. “Amazing,” Bucky said and then, at Drumm’s quirked brow, continued, “that the two of you managed not to pounce on me and Rocket in the streets.”

“Master Hamir was sleeping.” Drumm grinned. “Trust me when I tell you that a cranky master of the Mystic Arts is not to be trifled with.”

Drumm sprinkled some of the herbal mix onto both cups of java and handed the spices back to Bucky. “Yet again, you avoid giving an answer.”

“Because you’re still not telling me everything.”

“I cannot.” Drumm collected the tray. “But soon. I expect Master Hamir to deliver the promised payment within the hour and at that time, your questions may be answered.”

The man moved toward the door.

“Wait,” Bucky called, drying his hands and tipping a small box of sweetened zarg-nuts from the pantry shelf and into his palm. He opened it and shook some of its contents into a saucer. He then placed that dish onto the tray. “Mantis deserves to know how you feel.”

Drumm’s brows arched, but he didn’t bother to protest Bucky’s assessment. “And if I do not tell her, you will?”

“If you cannot tell her, then let her ‘see’ it for herself.”

“I do not wish to influence her feelings.”

“You won’t. You can’t. She’s too strong.” Because Ego, a god, had micromanaged her entire existence and yet he hadn’t been able to stop her from fighting him once she’d learned the difference between right and wrong. If Drumm honestly thought he could compete with that, then the man was seriously delusional. Bucky’s lips twisted into a chiding smile. “Do not insult her.”

Drumm gazed down at the dish of alien sweets. “Any more than I already have, you mean.”

“I recommend an apology. Better get going. It’s best while it’s still hot,” Bucky pointed out with a tight smile and a pointed look at the steaming java, sending Drumm on his way.

He went.

Bucky turned back to the stir fry he’d been attempting.

“I really can’t leave you alone with strangers,” Rocket groused from the threshold.

So Rocket had heard some or most of that. Bucky had known it wouldn’t take Rocket long to kick those Ravager butts out into space.

Bucky hummed through a genuine grin. “He’s persistent.”

“He’s frickin’ annoying.”

“Then let’s hope Mantis turns him down,” Bucky suggested, “or he might come calling on Friday nights.”

Rocket shuddered, grabbed a stool, and hauled it over to the stove, positioning himself at the frying pan. “We got any meat to work with?”

Bucky fished out a couple of options from the freezer box. “Any of these close relatives of either of us?”

Rocket arched a single brow. “Question: does being a close relative mean it’s gonna taste better?”

“It means you’ll get a double serving because I won’t be able to choke it down.”

Rocket pointed to one package, but Bucky didn’t move to return the others to cold storage.

He asked Rocket, “How hungry are you?”

“Not hungry enough for a double serving.”

OK, then. Rocket’s choice went into the defroster. Bucky handed over the longest-handled spatula he could find and Rocket fired up the stove top. Following Rocket’s advice (“You gotta taste your way through it”), the stir fry turned out to be edible at an enjoyable level. They finished the whole lot between the two of them in record time, too busy chewing to bother with conversation.

“I hope this doesn’t mean we’ve run out of things to talk about,” Rocket said, accepting the dishes from Bucky and loading them into the washer.

“Of course not,” Bucky assured him. “I could go on and on about that gold star performance of yours back there.”

“Back where?”

Bucky flicked his ear. “In our bed.”

Rocket’s fangs flashed in a wicked grin. “I’m likin’ the sound of that.”

Bucky, too.

But they continued on their tour, ending up on the bridge where everyone had congregated.

“Ya missed the chance to send Kraglin off,” Rocket accused Quill, looking offended at having had to babysit the lot of them. Which, really, Rocket had no right to: Bucky had offered to lend Rocket his muscle and a mean scowl.

Quill waved Rocket’s irritation aside. “Nah. We settled up away from the guys.”

“He happen to mention what broke his precious Yaka Arrow?” Rocket uncrossed his arms long enough to gesture. “I mean, I’m assuming that’s why he didn’t handle the problem himself.”

Drumm, who was standing noticeably close to a fairly glowing Mantis, said, “There aren’t many physical weapons that can defeat a sorcerer.”

“Huh,” Quill said and Rocket agreed, “That’s about as clear as muck.”

“Mud,” Gamora corrected.

Rocket snorted. “What?”

“It’s as clear as mud.”

Turning to Bucky, Rocket gave him a prompting look. “It is mud,” he answered.

“Damn it.”

“Next time,” Bucky assured him.

“Damn right.”

“Mud is not clear at all,” Drax told everyone.

“That’s the point,” Rocket said and Quill explained, “Drumm’s explanation was not clear. At all.”

“It wasn’t?”

Gamora checked, “Were you even listening?”

“No, actually,” Drax mumbled. “I was thinking of something else.”

Quill asked Drumm: “How much longer do we have to wait, man? Places to be.”

Bucky highly doubted that the rest of their day was booked solid, but yeah it would be nice to get paid, maybe get some more answers, and get on their way. Although, he could understand why Drumm was dragging his feet.

“My apologies,” a new voice -- a woman’s -- said from the doorway. Bucky and Rocket both turned, reaching for a weapon, and pausing only at the sight of Hamir, who stood beside a pale, slender woman with a perfectly bald head.

Drumm shifted away from Mantis with an apologetic smile. “Ancient One,” he greeted and then introduced the _Quadrant’s_ crew, ending with Mantis.

“Thank you for assisting us in retrieving Felix.”

“Sissy name,” Rocket muttered and Drax hissed, “Names which end in an ‘x’ are the monikers of warriors.”

If Drax had seen Felix, Bucky was sure Drax would’ve been irreparably offended.

Quill mused, “I’d’ve gone with treasure hunters -- ‘x’ marks the spot, yeah?”

This had the feel of a debate that could go on for hours, so Bucky inserted, “And people with names ending in ‘y’ always have the last word.”

Drax demanded, “Why would a ‘y’ enable anyone to do that?”

“Because I said so; that’s WHY.”

Gamora snorted.

Mantis giggled. “I like that joke.”

Rocket bumped a fist against Bucky’s knee.

Quill got them back on track: “Welcome to the _Quadrant._ We’re the Guardians of the Galaxy and, if you’ve brought our payment, we’re very happy to meet you.”

“Of course.” She gestured to Hamir who revealed a satchel which vaguely resembled one of those old doctor’s bags, the type used in the days of Bucky’s childhood when physicians had still made house calls. Hamir steadied the bag and the Ancient One opened it, removing the promised bar of gold and stepping toward Bucky.

As he accepted it (and Quill visibly relaxed and Gamora offered formal thanks), Bucky felt the woman’s hands brush his. She stepped back before he could tense and Bucky happily passed the thing on to Rocket, who examined it with interest.

The Ancient One said, “I am sure you have many questions.”

“You bet,” Quill replied.

Rocket got his in first: “Starting with how the hell y’all get from place to place.”

“Skill,” she answered lightly, “magic, and Sling Rings.” She lifted one hand, palm down, to show the wide band spanning the back of her fingers. “We need only hold an image in our mind of where we wish to go.”

“So you needed transportation to an unknown place and a tracker to help you find it,” Gamora said, the request finally having comprehensible context.

“We did.”

Bucky squinted. “And everywhere Felix could’ve escaped to, those were places you already knew.” He looked from Drumm to Hamir. “Once you set foot on Luchae.”

The Ancient One added, “Yes, and -- well -- Master Hamir is quite good with tracking spells.”

Drumm volunteered, “When we found Felix on Luchae, he seemed happy to see us -- relieved. He’d been abducted, he said. His Sling Ring taken. Forced to obey the ship’s captain.”

“That ain’t the story Kraglin told us,” Quill drawled.

“No, nor was it the truth,” Drumm admitted. “We took Felix back to Kamar-Taj. Then Hamir and I returned here to complete the mission and assist with safely removing the moon from Luchae’s immediate space. Imagine our disappointment: we return to find that the moon is not only visible but falling with even greater acceleration; just before we’d taken him back to Earth, Felix had put on a show of reversing its trajectory. A farce. A ruse to buy time.”

Mantis shook her head. “But why would he return to Luchae if it was about to be destroyed?”

The Ancient One answered. “To avoid punishment. Any sorcerer who is discovered abusing his or her powers is permanently relieved of them. Most would rather die.”

“He provoked me,” Bucky murmured. “Stalling.”

“Yes,” she elaborated, “Master Hamir would have enclosed himself and Felix in a mirror dimension before subduing him, but we cannot risk innocent lives -- your life. The instant Felix was separated from this reality, his spell would have ceased, causing the island on which you were standing to fall.”

“Again, the issue was time,” Drumm said, explaining what Bucky was beginning to understand and so interrupted him to say to Hamir, “The island had to be high enough before you attacked. Or it’d crash before you could secure Felix on Earth and come back to get me out of there.”

Hamir nodded.

Bucky’s jaw clenched. “I didn’t understand.”

Drumm sighed. “And circumstances being what they were, I had no opportunity to explain.”

“Here’s a thought,” Rocket snarked, “explain beforehand?”

“Would you have believed any of it without having experienced it for yourselves?”

A beat of silence reverberated on the bridge.

“No,” Drax said, answering for all of them. For once.

The Ancient One smiled kindly. “Unless any of you have further questions?”

Mantis looked to Drumm. “Will I see you again?”

“Of course.” He glanced toward Quill and Gamora. “With permission, I would very much like to visit.”

“The _Quadrant?”_ Gamora checked.

Drumm nodded.

Quill asked, “How is that possible? Who knows where we’ll be tomorrow or next whenever…”

“Well, I will call ahead, and when I arrive, it will be in the docking bay. It won’t matter where the ship is; all things in space are constantly in motion -- the Earth included -- and we manage just fine.”

“Or,” the Ancient One said, “you might consider visiting us, Mantis. Master Hamir has expressed great admiration for your abilities and I agree. Should you choose to train in the Mystic Arts, your skills would be enhanced considerably. Yours as well,” she continued, turning toward Bucky. “James Barnes. Sergeant of the 107th Infantry Regiment. The Winter Soldier. Yes, I know who you are. And I know we can teach you how to control the danger that is bound up inside you.”

Bucky could feel Rocket’s gaze on him. It burned. A fiery force.

Bucky opened his mouth, drew in a breath--

“Can we--just, give us a second?” Rocket asked the Ancient One, startling Bucky. He looked at Rocket, who nodded him out into the corridor and through what Bucky had assumed was a maintenance access door. It turned out to be a small armory.

Not exactly the best place to start a potential argument, but at least the surroundings were familiar.

“What’s going on?” Bucky asked as Rocket jumped up onto a step ladder and then poised himself on top of a scuffed countertop.

Their eyes now level, Rocket stated, “We should think about this.”

“…what?”

“I know it’s only been like thirty days or something, but… Bucky,” Rocket crooned, “all we’ve managed so far is damage control. You can fight the activation phrase if you hear it, but it’s still in there.” Rocket’s paw pressed to Bucky’s forehead. “Maybe these wackos can get it outta you once and for all.”

“I thought you liked that about me? That I’m dangerous.”

“Oh, I do. But you almost killed yourself with it.”

“And I won’t be so quick to do that again.” Bucky reared back. “You don’t trust me.”

Rocket paws curled into fists. “I don’t trust what I don’t know, OK? Couple weeks ago, I didn’t know a laser blast could scramble your brain. And yesterday, I didn’t know that you’d freak the hell out if you thought I was dead. AND I DON’T KNOW THE NEXT THING, BUCKY!”

Bucky’s hands reached for Rocket’s and those small fists opened readily, welcoming, and Bucky’s thumbs fitted neatly against callused palms. “Whatever it is, it’s not gonna break us.”

“It’s a moot point if the Winter Soldier’s not in there anymore.”

“So what are you saying? You’re coming to Earth with me? For however many weeks or months it takes for me to figure out how to travel like they do so I can commute back and forth for training?”

Rocket had glanced away at the prospect of going to Earth, and now he whined an indecisive sound. “Yes?”

Bucky wasn’t buying it. “And we’re just leaving everyone else here.”

Rocket bared his teeth and gritted out, “If that’s what we gotta do.”

Bucky shook his head because even if this was for the best, it wasn’t right. The niggling sensation of wrongness that Bucky had been feeling ever since Drumm’s first invitation -- that vague refusal that Bucky hadn’t bothered to chase down and unpack was now the fulcrum that their future rested upon. He lowered his chin, closed his eyes and looked into his own heart, peering at it from all angles--

“Bright eyes,” Rocket urged. He swallowed thickly, sounding pained.

“I promised I’d work with you 100% on this.”

“I ain’t forgotten.”

“I’d work with _you.”_ Bucky peered into Rocket’s eyes. “I trust _you._ I don’t trust them.” Bucky cupped Rocket’s face in his palms. “There’s nothing they can teach me that I’d accept. They have too many secrets. Hidden motivations. No,” he refused. “It’d be like letting another Hydra in my head. Doesn’t matter if it’s good for me. I can’t do it. I won’t.”

Tears spilled from Rocket’s eyes, cooling against Bucky’s thumbs. Against the blades of Bucky’s hands, he could feel Rocket’s throat tighten, flexing under the force of his emotions. Rocket’s paws curved over Bucky’s wrists. He begged, “Be sure.”

Bucky tipped his forehead against Rocket’s and sighed. Smiled. “I’m sure. We’ll figure it out.”

Rocket petted Bucky’s hair. “We’ve got time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few things that don’t get mentioned in the dialog--  
> Hauling Felix back to Earth didn’t cancel the spell that Felix had put on the moon or disrupt his ability to manipulate it further (that’s why it gets all huge and keeps right on falling). Removing Felix’s power core (which Bucky watched Hamir do at the end of Chapter 15) or closing Felix up in a mirror dimension would have canceled the spell (which was why Felix wanted to be in close proximity to a non-sorcerer -- if Hamir had created a mirror dimension, Bucky would have been caught in the middle of a magical battle and unable to escape).
> 
> In the cockpit of the Milano, Hamir puts himself and Drumm in a mirror dimension but Drumm is still able to use astral projection in order to search the Quadrant and then later the Luchae island of Wendofel for Felix. How is this possible? Well, I have decided that astral projection is one of Drumm’s strengths. More on this in a future fic.
> 
> Maybe you noticed in Chapter 15 -- Hamir can talk. He chooses not to. More on this in that aforementioned future fic. (^_~)


	19. Chapter 19

“I don’t trust you,” Bucky said frankly, startling Drumm and surprising the Ancient One. Hamir, however, looked on as though he’d anticipated this.

Drumm extended a hand. “If you would allow us the opportunity to earn your trust…”

“No, I won’t.” The warmth of Rocket’s paw on the side of Bucky’s leg grounded him, centered him, and he knew without a doubt that this was where he was supposed to be. For better or worse.

Bucky added, “Not now. I’m not ready.”

The Ancient One nodded in understanding, a pleased and proud smile curling her thin lips.

With eyes narrowed, Bucky observed, “You expected I’d turn you down.”

“Well, I did think you’d be a bit more tactful about it but, ah, hm.”

“Then why’d you bother asking?”

“A choice,” she said, “is only possible if a person is aware of more than one path. Sometimes, it is not the path itself, but the choice which most benefits a soul.”

Perhaps it did. With Rocket’s palm smoothing around to the back of Bucky’s thigh in an intimate caress, he couldn’t be bothered to summon a counter argument.

The Ancient One glanced at Hamir and then Drumm. “Let us to Luchae to offer assistance.”

Hamir lifted his arm and shook back the cuff of his right sleeve, aiming the Sling Ring at a vacant section of hull. Drumm held out his hand to Mantis, who accepted it and beamed as Drumm bowed, placing a kiss upon it. “I will call you very soon.”

She nodded vigorously.

The Ancient One paused. “I don’t suppose you’d join us?” she asked Bucky and Rocket. “If I understand correctly, the two of you played no small role in saving many lives. The Luchaenians might like to see that you’re alright.”

Bucky glanced at Rocket, who shrugged, so Bucky said, “If Master Drumm doesn’t mind bringing us back.”

He did not mind at all.

Wendofel’s Greatest Father was ecstatic to see Bucky still among the living. “We shall rebuild!” he declared. “And New Wendofel shall be known as Bright Eyes!”

_Oh, Jesus._

Rocket unsuccessfully hid a snicker behind one hand.

“Please don’t,” Bucky implored and damned if the little old man didn’t look positively crestfallen. So Bucky suggested it be called “Milano” and then maneuvered Rocket into telling his side of the story.

By the time Rocket concluded his account of the moon’s destruction and Bucky’s dramatic rescue from the depths of the ocean, the sorcerers had more or less pieced the pumice island back together. The rocks weren’t just reassembled -- the cracked mortar had melded and merged once again, turning the debris into a solid platform. Bucky could see the towers and spires reformed. The homes and streets and even the strange golden discs winking from the center of the courtyard. Almost as good as new.

The Luchaenians were awestruck by their rebuilt island and the Greatest Father mused, “These friends of yours accomplished this? Remarkable.”

“They wanted to help,” Bucky said and that was as close as Bucky got to introducing the sorcerers to the Luchaenians. He wasn’t thrilled with being the one to vouch for them, but if the Luchaenians had known the truth -- that it had been a rogue sorcerer who had caused all the damage in the first place -- they probably would have rioted.

“Safe travels to the pair of you,” the Greatest Father wished Bucky and Rocket. “And to your friends as well.”

“Take care,” Rocket said, and then Hamir reopened the portal. They all stepped into the _Quadrant’s_ docking bay where Mantis was waiting for them -- Drumm in particular, whom she practically danced over to, eagerly grasping his offered hands.

“Are you sure you won’t reconsider?” Drumm asked her quietly, and Bucky figured Mantis must have also refused the invitation to train at Kamar-Taj. Perhaps while Bucky and Rocket had been speaking in the armory, deciding their future surrounded by serious firepower. (There was a metaphor somewhere in that, Bucky was sure.)

Mantis glanced at Bucky before she gently explained, “Not today, but one day, perhaps.”

Drumm said, “Then I must continue asking.”

She beamed. “Yes, you must.” As she moved closer and Drumm welcomed her with open arms, Bucky turned away. Guilt seeped into his pores. It was at least partly (if not mostly) because of him that she was staying. Because he honestly wasn’t sure how he’d manage a full-blown Winter Soldier changeover without her.

But he would. Eventually.

Purpose renewed, he took a deep breath.

From an adjacent catwalk on the next level up, Quill let out a wolf whistle. A futile attempt to interrupt the kiss going on behind Bucky’s back that he was deliberately ignoring because big brothers couldn’t stand by and watch their little sisters necking with guys. Just… _no._

Gamora’s smack to Quill’s arm echoed like a hand clap. “Don’t be a dick. Let Mantis have this.”

Drax approved: “They make a very memorable couple.”

With Quill, Gamora, and Drax having wandered into the docking bay from the cockpit at some point, Bucky assumed it was only Groot now flying the ship. _God help us all._

“There is one thing,” the Ancient One said as Drumm’s voice murmured something low and intimate in Mantis’ ear, signaling the end of the lip-lock.

The sorceress said, “You ought be made aware -- I sense something of tremendous power on board…”

Rocket snorted and, gesturing to himself and Bucky, said, “Yeah. Us.”

“As impressive as the both of you are, no.” Her brows furrowed. “In fact, I am here personally because of the concern expressed by Master Hamir, who felt it as well. And if we can detect this item, whatever it is, then so will others. I advise you to take more care in how it is stored.”

Mantis said to Drumm, with whom she was still in physical contact, “You feel it, too.”

“Yes.”

Quill shifted, propped a hand on his hip near his quad blaster, and tested, “What do you suggest?”

“Only a little caution and common sense.” The Ancient One said, “I happily submit to Mantis’ examination.” She held out a hand.

Quill nodded for Mantis to go ahead. “Give us a read?”

She brushed past Bucky as she approached the sorceress, her proximity unnecessarily close and Bucky read it as a silent request for him to have her back just in case she needed a scary big brother after all.

He angled himself to keep both Hamir and Drumm in his line of sight as she neared the Ancient One.

Rocket’s paw didn’t budge from Bucky’s leg -- it was that much closer to the blaster that Rocket carried strapped between his shoulders.

Overhead, Gamora was tense. Beside her, Drax was sporting a flummoxed expression -- he’d probably forgotten all about the Tome of Ra. Quill, though, was leaning against the railing like the resulting fall (if it suddenly gave way) would be a fun surprise. Despite the lackadaisical pose, the tension went unabated.

Mantis clasped the Ancient One’s hand and, for a long moment, she simply absorbed. _Figuring out the woman’s baseline,_ Bucky knew. But he wondered if emotions could be faked…

“What interest,” Mantis asked in that delightfully innocent tone of hers, “do such items hold for you?”

“Knowledge for knowledge’s sake,” the sorceress replied. “Aside from that, we find use for those which aid us in protecting our world. The rest are archived with the hope that they will never be needed.”

Gamora asked, “Who or what do you protect the Earth from?”

“Destructive cosmic forces.”

“Sounds like y’all would need a day job,” Quill quipped and the Ancient One’s mouth twitched into a sudden smile.

“Many of us do. But when a threat arises, we answer the challenge. Then and only then.” Her brows lifted in a wry expression. “The fact that you’ve never heard of us speaks to our desire to avoid conflict, does it not?”

“First do no harm,” Bucky mused and then asked, “Is that a code that the masters of the Mystic Arts live by?”

“Yes. Sorcerers such as Felix are not permitted free rein. The safeguarding of ancient relics and powerful artifacts is a position held only by the most trustworthy. Our sanctums have never been breached.”

Mantis maintained her hold and, after a long moment of cementing silence, Gamora prompted, “Mantis?”

“I sense sincerity. Respect and reverence. She speaks openly of her intentions, honestly. She worries for us.” Mantis’ antennae flexed as she focused. “She believes what she senses is very dangerous.”

Rocket scoffed, “Eh, we can handle it.”

“Then you are aware of what it can enable.”

“We got it under control.”

“You do not. But you could.” To Mantis, she said, “Permit Master Drumm to teach you how to utilize mirror dimensions. Whatever it is would be safe there.”

Mantis’ head tipped to the side. “I will give it much consideration.”

The Ancient One relaxed and her smile was brilliant in her relief. “And if you find an interest beyond that, do not hesitate to pursue it.” She glanced at Drumm with a tiny, charmed smile touching her lips. “I have been after this one to settle down.”

“For ages,” Drumm gamely agreed. “What will you do with yourself if I at long last agree to a post at the New York Sanctum?”

“I expect I shall have time to focus on my poor, long-neglected garden.” She removed a card from the breast fold of her robe. Offering it to Mantis, she bid them farewell: “Do not hesitate to call. Someone is always there to answer.”

Hamir drew a circle in the air, spinning a disc of sparking energy. Through it, a stone courtyard could be seen. Crystal clear. _Kamar-Taj,_ Bucky supposed but he wasn’t particularly appeased by the show of trust: the sorcerers could step right onto the _Quadrant._ Allowing Bucky and the rest a peek at their own home base was a matter of courtesy, a gesture empty of true risk and thus little trust seeing as how none of them had the means to travel the way sorcerers could.

Drumm was the last to go, lingering to place a kiss upon Mantis’ cheek before stepping back into the portal.

It spiraled shut with a crackle and the following quiet was heavy enough to make eardrums ache.

“Well,” Rocket said, “I know what I’m gonna be doing for the next couple hours.”

“What is that?” Mantis asked and Bucky answered: “Figuring out how to block unwanted visits.”

“Yup,” Rocket confirmed.

Mantis’ brows tilted with distress. Bucky hated seeing that look on her face, hated raining on her parade.

Gamora was on the same page as Bucky; she asked Mantis, “Do you trust her -- the Ancient One -- completely?”

Mantis hesitated. “I would like to, but she keeps a dark secret.”

“What about Hamir?” Quill probed.

“A man of strong conviction and high principles.”

Rocket rephrased: “So, not necessarily a friend.”

Quill didn’t disagree. “And Drumm?”

“Oh!” Mantis keenly shared, “Daniel is an open page to me! He is our friend.”

“Unless,” Rocket muttered, “he can use one o’ them mirror dimensions to lock up what he’s really feeling.”

Mantis frowned. “I do not think that is how it works.”

“Then maybe you should find out how it works,” Gamora suggested. “Then we’ll know for sure.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Quill approved.

“So, when Daniel calls, I may invite him to the ship?” Mantis was practically glowing, hands clasped in front of her chest and eyes wide with hope.

“Yeah.” Quill gestured to Rocket. “Just check with Rocket. Don’t wanna fry the dude to a crisp on some kind of force field or whatever our resident maniac comes up with.”

“Maniac,” Rocket groused. “You’re lucky I put up with you.”

Drax argued, “It is not luck. It is aggravation.”

“Yeah, well, give and take, Drax. Where you going, cutie?” Rocket demanded as Bucky moved toward the nearest set of steps.

“The bridge. Or are we letting Groot fly all day?” Besides, Bucky wanted to thank him for saving his life. Damn but it seemed like Bucky was gonna owe that bipedal tree for one damn thing or another for the rest of forever.

Quill straightened. “Groot’s not on the bridge -- we’re on autopilot.”

“You haven’t seen him?” Gamora asked, worried.

“Not since the med bay,” Rocket admitted. He looked over at Bucky who had paused with his foot on the first step. He let go of the railing and headed for the door, Rocket hot on his heels.

“GROOT!” Rocket hollered as Bucky strode down the corridors, shouldering open one door after another. “GROOT! WHERE YOU AT, MAN!?”

“Groot?” Bucky called, poking his head into closets and recently vacated bunk rooms in need of a serious cleaning. With each non-Grooted nook and cranny, Bucky’s sense of urgency doubled until he was slamming his left shoulder hard against the next door and the next and the next--

“I HAVE FOUND HIM!” Drax bellowed.

Bucky raced Rocket toward the sound of Drax’s voice. With his longer legs, Bucky reached the threshold first and the sight beyond brought him up short. Rocket dived between Bucky’s legs, leaped past Drax, and right up onto Groot’s lap.

“Groot? GROOT! What the hell’s wrong with you!?”

Bucky scanned Groot where he was seated on a simple stool and leaning back against the barren wall. For as long as Bucky had known him, Groot had always seemed on the verge of growing mossy patches along the grain of dark bark. Now, though, he was pale and skeletal. Almost white. Bleached like driftwood.

“Groot…” Rocket whimpered and Bucky crossed the room. As he got closer, he saw that it wasn’t just that Groot was stripped of color. There were crystals clustering on his bark. Like a sugar coating on molasses cookies or--

“Salt,” Bucky said, gingerly rubbing the tip of his thumb against Groot’s shoulder. Crumbling and scattering crystals of _salt._ Salt from Luchae because when Groot had pulled Bucky out of the depths, he’d soaked up the alien ocean water like a sponge.

“What do we do?” Rocket said near panic.

Mantis pressed against Bucky’s shoulder and he leaned back so that she could see Groot’s condition for herself. Bucky suggested, “Should we get some water into him?” Groot’s mouth looked mummified shut.

“I think so,” Mantis agreed.

Gamora assessed the situation from a step behind Mantis. “Is he expelling the salt from Luchae’s ocean?”

“Let’s just put him in a water bath,” Quill suggested. “Flush all this out.”

“Or soak it right back in,” Bucky warned.

“Gamora,” Drax said, “we will need your hairbrush.” At her startled look, he gestured toward Groot. “To remove the salt.”

Bucky pressed a palm to one of his knives. “Mantis, we need fresh water. A lot of it. Rocket, get some tubing. Drax, help me get him to the med bay. Quill, grab the chair--”

Five minutes later, they’d arranged Groot beside the _Quadrant’s_ only suspension tank. It would take time to fill -- time they might not have -- and Gamora was handing over her soft-bristled hairbrush so that Drax could scrape the exposed salt away.

“Apologies, my friend,” Drax said as he worked his way over Groot’s groin, “but I do not think you would wish for Quill to do this.”

“Hey. I’ve got a great bedside manner!”

Drax frowned over his shoulder at him. “Groot is not in a bed. And if he were, I doubt he would welcome you near it.”

“Oh, just--never mind.”

Bucky waited until Drax was scraping at Groot’s back before he pulled out his knife and carefully wedged the blade between Groot’s nonexistent lips.

“Watch it! WATCH IT!” Rocket hissed, clutching the length of tubing he’d found.

Groot’s maw pried open with an ominous creak and Bucky assessed, “Gonna need something to brace his mouth open.”

Quill passed a largish bolt forward.

“What, are you nuts?” Rocket inadvertently punned. “That thing’s filthy! Just gimme two seconds.” He handed Gamora the tubing.

Bucky only had to hold his position for thirty seconds (if that) and then Rocket was sliding a shiny metal brace between Groot’s lips.

“There. Now the tubing.”

“Wait -- water,” Bucky directed and Mantis passed forward a large canister of drinking water. Bucky inserted the tube and started sucking the liquid up. He stood, waiting for the water to hit his lips before he quickly inserted the tube into Groot’s mouth and fed the tubing carefully down his throat.

By this point, the canister was already half empty.

“Should I get more water?” Mantis fretted.

Bucky had no idea. He nodded for Rocket to try and get a response from Groot again.

“Groot! You in there, buddy?” He knocked a paw against Groot’s bone-dry chest. “GROOT?”

No response.

Rocket leaned back and quietly directed, “Yeah. One more canister full, Mantis.”

Gamora pulled down an empty pitcher from the shelf and passed it to Mantis for filling at the ration tap.

“God,” Rocket breathed, “I sure hope you’re in there, buddy.”

“He lives,” Drax announced and pointed to Groot’s salt-crusted arm. “This was clear of salt, but now there is more. Fight, mighty tree! FIGHT!” Drax cheered, bellowing at Groot’s torso.

A faint whine. A tiny sound that vibrated from within Groot’s unmoving chest. His bark creaked and tiny veins of salt appeared, pushing toward the surface.

“Keep it up, Drax,” Quill encouraged.

“YES, FIGHT ON, MY FRIEND!”

“I meant with the brush,” Quill amended.

Rocket held up a paw. “No, the shouting is working. C’MON, GROOT! YOU GOT THIS, BUDDY!”

Bucky gestured for the pitcher Mantis was filling. “Gimme whatever you got.” The canister was almost empty. She handed it to Gamora with one hand while she shut off the tap with the other. Gamora handed it off to Bucky, who poured it into the canister at Groot’s feet.

The tube continued to send water into Groot’s husk-like body which continued to expel globs of salt.

“GROOT! WHACHU NEED, PAL? MORE WATER?”

Again, that muffled voice responded. Higher in pitch than the voice Bucky had grown accustomed to, but it was Groot. Had to be. And he sounded strained.

Wood cracked deep inside Groot’s chest. Creaked. “I--am--Grooooot!”

“That’s a call for help,” Rocket reported.

Quill concurred. “Definitely a call for help.”

“YOU NEED MORE WATER?” Rocket bellowed.

The snap of wood from deep inside. Like an egg hatching and Bucky yelled, “GROOT -- YOU WANT OUT? WANT US TO GET YOU OUT OF THERE?”

“IamGrootIamGroot!”

“That was a yes,” Rocket translated as Bucky again drew out his utility knife.

“That was a HELL YES,” Quill had to one-up him.

Bucky was already feeling along Groot’s chest, looking for a likely crease along the grain that he could split wide open. “Drax, get this area brushed clear.”

Drax shoved Quill out of his way and smooshed himself right up against Bucky’s side, swiping at Groot’s chest with Gamora’s hairbrush like he was scalping a defeated opponent.

“IAMGROOT!”

Bucky answered, “HERE GOES.” He slid the blade in Groot’s chest, felt it dig into woodgrain and slide down. He wrenched his shoulders and grabbed for one half of the busted open husk with his left hand. Quill, wearing gloves, quickly clamped on to the other side.

“Groot?” Rocket checked. “This good?”

“I… I am Groot.” The voice was clearer now and definitely higher in pitch. Bucky paused in splitting open Groot’s torso, peering into the gap. A very Groot-ish eye peered out at him. Small, bark-covered fingers curled over the splintered edges and tugged, trying to widen the crack.

“OK,” Bucky said. “Hold on.” He added his weight to the blade, sending it racing down on a collision course with Groot’s groin.

“CAREFUL!” Drax shouted in alarm as Quill winced. “DUDE!”

Bucky pulled back, drawing the blade almost out and slowing its descent. Gamora and Rocket grabbed on to the sides of Groot’s split skin and put their weight into it. Over Bucky’s shoulder, Mantis leaned in and held out her hands.

“Come, Groot. Come to Mantis!”

Hands occupied, all Bucky could do was watch as Groot reached out with one slender hand and then started wriggling in an attempt to free his opposite arm from whatever it was wedged against.

Mantis pressed hard against Bucky’s back and he grunted, trying to redistribute his weight. Leaning back as far as he could seemed to do the trick; Mantis managed enough leverage to get Groot’s upper body free, and then Groot reached up for Quill’s shoulders and tried to pull his legs out.

“ACK!” Quill complained. “I ain’t a feakin’ tree, Groot!”

Bucky let loose a bark of laughter because instead of a monkey climbing a tree, a TREE was climbing a MONKEY. God but Bucky loved these ridiculous assholes.

“I am Groot?” Groot hesitated.

“KEEP GOING!” Rocket ordered and Mantis reassured him, “Quill only complains because he loves us so much!”

When Quill didn’t refute it, Bucky’s brows shot up, but in the next instant, the husk’s thighs were cracking and creaking and new, littler Groot was free, launching himself right at Quill’s chest and both of them fell back in a pile of limbs.

Bucky bit his lip. _Oh, the puns are practically sprouting today!_

“OK, guys. Let go,” Bucky said and waited until all flesh-and-blood hands were clear before he yanked both the knife and his left hand free.

Then, panting with exertion, he turned and crouched. Watched as Rocket gathered Groot up in his arms and shook him hard. “YOU IDIOT! WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL US YOU NEEDED US DAMN IT!”

“...I am...Groot?”

Quill huffed. “Yeah, well it looked pretty damn serious to us.”

“And now just look at you,” Drax scolded. “You are little again.”

Gamora sighed but reached out a hand toward one narrow shoulder. “Oh, Groot.”

Mantis observed, “He is not as little as he used to be.”

“That was Tiny Groot,” Drax explained. “This is Little Groot.”

“I am Groot!”

“Dude,” Rocket told him, “you’re little. Just own it.”

Groot pouted. “I am Groot.”

“No. You don’t get to call me ‘littler.’ You know why? Because I’m not the idiot who thought they could heal themselves up with zero help. You’re lucky I don’t call you Twig.”

Groot opened his mouth, looking for all the world like a stroppy little preteen.

“Hey,” Bucky called quietly. “You scared the shit outta us.”

“Not me,” Drax corrected him. “My shit is still resting in my bowels.”

Quill’s head bowed in defeat. “Figure of speech, Mister Too Much Information.”

“Seriously,” Rocket told Drax, “we know more about your bodily functions than is good for our mental health.”

“What these idiots mean,” Gamora told Groot, “is that they’re really glad you’re still alive. We all are.”

Groot exhaled and hung his head. “I am Groot.”

“Yeah, you bet your bark you’re sorry,” Rocket grumbled. “Just don’t you ever do that again. Got it?”

Groot nodded. He smiled at Bucky. “I am Groot,” he thanked him and Bucky just shook his head. At a total loss.

“No, Groot. You saved my life. Thank _you.”_

Quill hummed. “That still doesn’t make you two even.”

Gamora rolled her eyes, hands flopping at her sides. “I can’t believe you.”

“What? It’s true!”

Rocket glared at him. “Are you ever not keeping score?”

“Somebody’s gotta do it!”

Drax wanted to know, “What is my score?”

Bucky elbowed Groot. “You almost missed out on this.”

Groot’s rueful smile said it all. They were loud. They yelled. They annoyed one another. They were ridiculous and petty and over-critical. They were damaged and struggling and oversensitive.

They were family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only the epilogue left to go!! Wow!!


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mantis POV
> 
> NOTES: English translation of Russian words in bold, italic

**_**“Longing.”** _ **

Mantis liked this planet. The breeze was soft and the air smelled nice. It was probably the wildflowers.

 ** _ **“Rusted.”** _ **

This was her favorite stopover so far. Although that one with all the snow had been very pretty when viewed from the inside of the comfortably-heated ship.

 ** _ **“Seventeen.”** _ **

They were supposed to be training. Practicing. Bucky needed piloting experience and Mantis needed to learn how to fight. Nobody ever asked if they did anything else on these jaunts.

 ** _ **“Daybreak.”** _ **

She glanced over at Bucky as he inhaled deeply, eyes closed. His voice was mellow and face relaxed, but they hadn’t gotten to the hard part yet.

 ** _ **“Furnace.”** _ **

The first five words were easy. He got a little lightheaded sometimes and, at other times, a small headache. Bucky didn’t need Mantis to help him with any of that.

 ** _ **“Nine.”** _ **

She would have preferred that Rocket be here. Like he was when Bucky talked about Hydra. When Rocket had suggested that they focus their energies on facing the past, Bucky had insisted on having Rocket there. Sometimes all it took was a touch from Rocket’s paw, his claws pressing against Bucky’s knee or right bicep, to push back the panic.

 ** _ **“Benign.”** _ **

But this was different. This wasn’t memories. It was programming. A series of seemingly random words.

She knew what they meant. She’d asked Gamora once and she’d translated.

And when Bucky had first asked Mantis for these private sessions, she’d told him, _“I like the way the words sound when you say them. Is it awful that I think that?”_

 _“No,”_ Bucky had said, smiling sadly at the rocky ground they’d chosen for that day’s attempt. _“I like hearing myself say them.”_

Although, something had told her that Bucky didn’t mean he enjoyed the cadence of Russian words in his own voice. Mantis really did enjoy that, but there was one other thing that she _adored--_

 ** _ **“Homecoming.”** _ **

There was a certain poetry to the words. A randomness and result that was almost cosmic, and Mantis had always thought that the cosmos was the most beautiful thing in existence.

She sat up on her knees, lifted her hands, and readied herself. The next word was hard. Time after time, they had been forced to stop here because of the blood gushing from his nose, and she remembered that once Bucky’s ears had bled and that had terrified her. But she’d been able to send him to sleep. Sleep, the great healer. _“I could sleep off a broken arm,”_ Bucky had once bragged, but Mantis was pretty sure he’d been joking.

Bucky sucked in an additional deep breath. Then another. The watch on his arm beeped slowly, signaling an elevated heart rate, but nothing dangerous.

“You are OK,” Mantis told him quietly. “You are safe.”

He breathed again, in and out.

In… and out.

His heart rate slowed and the beeping stopped. It had been Bucky’s idea to use the wristwatch to help him teach his body how to be calm. That was the only way to truly counter Hydra’s programming and Mantis wondered if Rocket had thought of this when he’d bought Bucky the wristwatch. It was fitting that Rocket was here now, in a way. His gift, showing Bucky the way to his own inner strength.

Bucky’s chin lifted. **_**“One,”**_** he said loudly, as though he were forcing the word out on a cough.

“Shhh,” Mantis urged, watching for signs of injury. It baffled her that anyone would try to convince Bucky’s own mind to hurt him. But it did. It hurt him very much. These sessions were even more grueling than when Bucky and Drax sparred; here and now, the risk of injury was great and, since Bucky insisted on doing this in secret, the only hand to pat him on the back and remind him that he was safe would be Mantis’.

The wristwatch beeped again. Slowly at first, and then faster. Faster yet.

Bucky dragged in a breath. Fisted his hands on top of his thighs. Fought and struggled.

“Do not fight the pain,” she reminded him, copying Rocket’s words from long ago. “Accept it. Hold it in your hands. Like Rocket told you -- this is your power, Bucky.”

He nodded. Inhaled.

The beeping of the watch slowed.

He exhaled.

The beeping slowed further.

He inhaled long and deep… and then exhaled into silence.

His mouth opened. He rasped, **_**“Freight car.”**_**

The tenth word. He’d never gotten this far before and Mantis was braced for anything to happen.

But nothing did. Nothing that she could see, anyway. Moments, minutes passed. And as tears gathered, clumping his eyelashes, she began to worry.

“Bucky, may I touch your forehead?”

He nodded and she curved her palm along his brow. At first, it had felt so foreign -- the shape of his skull, the tautness of his skin, everything about him had been strange. Frightening. When Tony Stark had first shown them the videos of the things Bucky had done, Mantis had been horrified.

But now there was nothing to fear. He was her brother Bucky. She only wished he could feel that the way she could feel his love for his sister ladybug.

“How am I doing?” he asked quietly, his eyes still squeezed tightly shut.

“You are worrying too much. Relax.” It wasn’t a command, only a reminder.

He kept on breathing. The wristwatch that Rocket had given him remained silent.

“Open your eyes now,” she suggested, and he did. He blinked at the double suns setting in the distance, their glow lighting up the grassy horizon in orange fire that made Mantis think of the Mystic Arts.

She missed Daniel, but she would be seeing him soon. _Tonight!_ A sharp spike of anticipation thrilled her, but she let it subside. It was not “tonight” yet and she had promised Bucky that she would be here -- right here -- if he needed her.

Mantis asked him, “How do you feel?”

He swallowed, his Adam’s apple (what a strange name for that bump on a human male’s throat!) dipped and his beard twitched. His mouth stretched and curved, up and down. More gold-lit tears spilled from his eyes. “I remember,” he said thickly.

“What do you remember?”

“I--”

He was trying not to cry, but crying was OK. Sometimes it was the only way to get past the feelings. She lowered her hand to his, fitting her fingers against his right palm.

“My mother had this blue dress. And when she wore it, my dad would say…”

Bucky’s voice trailed off as the memory commanded his entire attention. His brows shifted with emotion. His jaw clenched. He smiled. “I remember,” he said to the alien horizon, “everything. Everything Hydra tried to take. It’s all back.”

A tremor ran through his torso and Mantis scooched closer. When he wrapped her up in his arms, she wrapped him up in hers. When he loosened tears against her shoulder, she couldn’t help shedding tears of her own. “I’m so glad, Bucky. You’ve worked so hard for this.”

Months and months of slow, steady progress with the occasional but terrifying setback. Those had been decreasing with frequency but increasing in intensity the closer Bucky had gotten to the tenth and final word.

And now? Now he’d done it.

“You did it!” Mantis’ arms tightened around him, and then she leaned back to exclaim: “I cannot wait to tell Rocket! He will be so--”

“Furious.” Bucky held up a hand. “Don’t you dare say a word to Rocket. I will tell him that this was all my idea and you forced me to let you help AND you thought Rocket knew about this all along. OK?”

“You want me to lie!”

“You can lie or you can find one of Drax’s turds in your pillow, courtesy of Rocket. Which is it gonna be?”

Mantis frowned. “Has Rocket ever done that?”

“I don’t ask; he doesn’t tell.”

Mantis blinked. “Would he really--”

“Yes.” Bucky’s response was firm and, she could see from the tilt of his head, tinged with bemusement and admiration. There were times when Mantis honestly could not understand why Bucky found Rocket attractive. What could be attractive about handling turds?

“Well, I hope you make him wash his hands very well afterward,” she said.

Bucky huffed out a soft chuckle and pushed himself to his feet. He held out a hand to Mantis, helping her to hers. They turned and started walking toward the _Milano,_ perched atop a hill in the wind-kissed prairie.

“How’s Daniel?” Bucky asked with startling suddenness. Bucky did that sometimes. Often when he no longer wished to discuss the present topic of conversation. And Mantis knew the inquiry was meant to be teasing because he had that twinkle in his eyes. Usually, it was aimed at Rocket. Mantis was honored to be a recipient.

“He is wonderful.”

“If he ever isn’t,” Bucky began and Mantis shushed him.

“No threats, Brother Bucky. It is a beautiful sunset.”

They paused beside the ship to watch it paint the sky.

“The Tome of Ra is safe in a mirror dimension,” she said, “and now you are safe from Hydra. It is all in a day’s play.”

He grinned. “You get that one from Rocket?”

Mantis had to pause and think about it. “I cannot remember. Does it matter?”

“No,” he said. “Doesn’t matter who you got it from.”

“Because we have all got each other!”

Bucky gave her a smile and a pat to her shoulder. “C’mon. Don’t wanna make you late for your date tonight.”

“It is not a date,” she protested shyly.

“You’re doing something fun with someone you like to spend time with. It’s a date.”

Well, maybe it was a date. As the _Milano_ lifted off to rejoin the _Quadrant_ orbiting high above the planet, Mantis smiled from the navigator’s seat. It was a big smile; she could tell. Probably so could Bucky, but he didn’t tease her about it because this was happiness, and they’d both earned it.

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, what a journey this has been! I sure hope you've had as much fun as I have!
> 
> A continuation is in the works. So, if you have time to leave a comment about the things you enjoyed in this fic (or the series so far), that would be Very Motivational indeed. (^_^)
> 
> Also!! You can now find me on Dreamwidth @ manniness.dreamwidth.org  
> I hope you stop by! (^_^)


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